Ojalá
by The Cilantro Family
Summary: After being taken prisoner on a rival captain's ship, Antonio didn't think he'd ever sail again. When Lovino's safety was taken away from him, he was forced to grow up.
1. Chapter 1

**So this was kind of an experiment with a different styles of writing and using them to convey different things. Two beginnings, and two stories of the same people in the same universe all told at once. A little parallelism and what have you. I also wanted to include both points of view and all of the important parts, but nothing that would make it drag, so this is what ended up happening. A cyclical sort of thing that isn't cyclical or chronological at all.**

 **Essentially, it's a bunch of snippets all arranged out of order. It turned out a lot longer than was acceptable for a one shot, so it will be split into two chapters, and the snippets will get shorter. Skillet helped majorly with this.**

 **If something confuses you, don't hesitate to ask!**

 **Enjoy.**

 **-FEELS**

 **Antonio- August 1681**

Captain Antonio Santiago Fernandez-Carriedo was lost. Horribly. He was so lost, in fact, that he was hardly even sure which island he was on- and he was only assuming it was an island because of his pirate's intuition.

He'd been dumped on this island yesterday- though he wasn't really sure, time seemed to pass in waves nowadays- and had been wandering out rather uselessly ever since. The first day he seemed like a madman, he was sure. Tattered clothing swinging behind him, Antonio would stop people in the middle of their daily lives to question them ruthlessly about the date, and the location, and anything else besides thirst that burned at the back of his throat. The most he discovered was that he was on Tortuga-which was, indeed, an island- it was late August, and there was a rumor going around that he was dead.

Tortuga was notorious for its criminal element, which was essentially all the island consisted of. He had no money to bribe or buy or bargain, and most of the salespeople's eyes were keen and watching for desperate people exactly like Antonio. The chances of him getting decent information here were slim. The chances of him getting medical help were none. The chances of him dying, however, were higher than they had been on the brig of Kirkland's ship when he was cold and wet and malnourished, and perhaps that's just what Kirkland was hoping for.

He'd thought the pretentious rival captain would have known better than that.

Antonio didn't honestly know how he'd made it this far. He's lost hope, literally and figuratively, and he'd lost his crew, and somewhere around the second month when Kirkland told Antonio that something had happened to his cabin boy, he'd lost the rest of his strength.

He quit resisting around the fourth month. He didn't have the energy to glare or spit or curse anymore. And though it seemed like he'd lost everything at that point, he'd never lost the will to live. He didn't _want_ to die, especially by his own hand. So he didn't.

Yet he still didn't want to live. Not really.

Perhaps that's why Kirkland finally got tired of him sitting around down there and breeding disease. Antonio wasn't any fun anymore, but he was also stubbornly refusing to die. One day the pretentious Brit had stormed down to the hull, where Antonio was being kept, all upset about something or another. His nose wrinkled (as it always did when he came down here, even Antonio was able to recognize that it smelled _awful_ down here), which interrupted the rather impressive sneer. He told Antonio, plain and simply, to get out. As if staying down here had all been Antonio's idea.

The Spaniard didn't argue with this change of fate. He stumbled off of Kirkland's ship (half carried by some brutes) when he was finally hauled out of the brig with his head held high, and he'd walked away with the gait of a man who hadn't had anywhere to go in five months, and as soon as the ship was out of sight Antonio had fallen on the grungy cobblestone street and he cried out of sheer relief.

If there was one thing he was proud to admit from his time below below below below deck it was that he'd hardly cried. Sometimes when Kirkland's propaganda was too heavy, and he thought too much he couldn't help but let a few tears slip. When, for the shortest time, Antonio had believed everyone was dead the watering was inevitable. But he never _really_ wept.

That first night back on dry, crowded land, he had sobbed for the sun, and for the people, and for the grace of God, and then he'd fallen asleep where he lay and woken up only a few hours later even more dehydrated and hardly able to stand.

There's something to be said for the good people on Tortuga, the ones whose problems don't overshadow that of others. One threesome had stopped, helped him up, and given him a canteen of water, a banana, and their best wishes. It wasn't much, but it kept him going for another day. Another man, decrepit and seemingly in the same sort of situation as Antonio himself, had spoken to him for at least an hour when he'd collapsed and had to sit on a crate near the old man's sitting spot.

That day, now, was winding to a close.

The sun was descending, though it hadn't quite given up for the night, and the people seemed to get darker with the sky. Everyone on Tortuga looked the same. Dark, dirty, and desperate. Antonio fit in perfectly.

The shock of white hair bobbing above the masses, however, did not.

At first he thought he'd been hallucinating. It had happened a few times underneath the ship, when he had gone a few days with no social interaction and absolutely nothing to eat or drink. Antonio stopped in the middle of the crowd and watched as the tall, pale head bobbed along next to dirty blondes and dirty brunettes.

No else around him seemed to notice, nor care that the pirate captain stood there gaping like a fish. Maybe he himself was a hallucination. Maybe he wasn't even on Tortuga anymore. Maybe he was actually dead and he was reuniting with his crew in pirate heaven.

It was about time.

 **Lovino- August 1681**

Lovino Vargas didn't trust crowds. He didn't trust people, in general, especially not when they were all grouped together. Anybody could disappear in a crowd if they ducked their heads, except Gilbert. Pickpockets, thieves, bounty hunters, madmen. You couldn't pick them out from the average hardened workaday whores and sleazeballs. This _was_ Tortuga, after all. Nobody here was innocent, least of all its pirate population.

The ex-crewmen of _La Esperanza_ had been quietly assimilated into their ranks for the past week or two. Their stolen ship had vanished from the docks, likely snatched up by another band of sinners when it had been left unattended. They weren't exactly the force they used to be. Seventeen men had left. Thirteen sinewy, leery men remained, headed by a perceptive Frenchman. Hardened by five long months of scraping by. Stealing on land didn't have any of the charm it did on the sea, but it was risky to try anything while they'd been illegal passengers because they numbered so few.

Francis was, by no means, a bad captain. His crew was diligent, united by a common, burning goal. But he was not Antonio. Nobody would ever take his place, no matter how deep in the ocean his bones lay, or how the Brit had utterly humiliated him in front of them all. That much had become obvious within the first few days after they'd been kicked off of Kirkland's ship.

The hellish first month of not knowing what to do with themselves, of watching friends and comrades walk away shaking their heads, had been hard to say the least. Theirs was a gritty lifestyle, and Lovino couldn't blame them for turning tail once the legacy fell apart.

He'd thought about leaving once or twice himself, but there was nobody he'd rather be with. As much as it spited him, he'd grown exceedingly fond of the dedicated scoundrels who he walked among now. Francis was to his right, compensating for a blind side, and Gilbert walked slightly ahead of them both with his feet swinging into each step. Others filtered in and out of the crowd, jeering at women and whooping with each other.

It had been a good day, which was a rarity. They still hadn't found a navigator, but the little raid they'd pulled off on a spot just outside the bustle of the busy port city had gone remarkably smoothly. Even Lovino wasn't dreading tomorrow as he usually did. There was often very little to look forward to, but the prospect of having a little bit more in his stomach when he went to bed and sleeping in an inn instead of a barn and squinting at the descending sun didn't feel as depressing. It was more peaceful.

There was a sighing breeze off the sea, but the air still smelled like sweat and dirt and booze. The crowd was still loud and boisterous. There was laughter on every doorstep and yelling from every window, but Lovino still felt more at ease than he did when he was alone. He was distracted by the noise and the movement. Distracted from their goal and their motive. These last five months had been a long, trying five months. From where they were, fanning out and circling up and constantly reshaping there didn't seem to be a way that the next five months couldn't get any worse, and that was the most gloomy comfort Lovino had ever felt.

Lovino was distracted from his distraction by a barking yelp from behind him and the slapping sound of two bodies colliding roughly. Even before he turned around he recognized it as Felipe, one of the oldest men Lovino had ever known. He was at least forty-five. A leathery, Spanish sea dog through and through. Loyal, if not a little daft.

Nobody seemed to think much of it at first. There was so much chaos around them that one more exchange didn't seem uncommon. But Felipe's next outcry wasn't "Get off me!" or some foul curse at whoever had run into him. It was cracked exclamation of "Captain!" so emotional that it sounded like the man was ready to burst into tears. That had twelve men turning their heads all at once, as if drawn to some beacon.

Truly, they were.

An oblong bubble formed. A complete halt in the midst of the bustle of the main street beyond one of the many taverns they'd been headed for. Other people moved around them like rapids around a stoic river rock, but there was a new kind of chaos in the group. A shocked, euphoric kind.

Eleven bodies rushed the emaciated Spaniard, forming a tight circle of vibrating energy. They let howls up into the gathering dusk like crying wolves, some shedding tears, others laughing. Lovino watched as Gilbert fought his way to the middle and held on for dear life, but the Italian himself was slow to react. The steps he took towards the pulsing mass of warm bodies were halting and baffled, his expression similarly conflicted. He could barely even see anything over the tops of tall, brawny heads, but he kept hearing them shout about their captain being back, being alive.

It was a miracle.

It was a godsend.

Lovino just wished he could, you know, fucking see him.

So he got mad. He didn't allow himself to feel anything but dull anger as he grabbed onto a shoulder here and an arm there and jabbed an elbow into a side somewhere, yelling to be let through the thicket of limbs.

He was out of breath despite not moving much, overwhelmed by the deep, aching _need_ to be by Antonio. If there was even the slightest possibility that it was really him, and that he was still alive, he had to get to him _now_. Lovino was desperate. He started kicking and pulling hair, fighting his way layer by layer through the knot until he got to Francis and Gilbert- and Felipe, poor man.

Lovino raised his voice over the racket, screaming at everybody to just _back up_ and _calm down_ , damn it. Everything was too close together. With a subtle shift of his head, just a few degrees, he could see Antonio as clear as day, but he looked awful. A husk of a man. Thin and pale, weary, but still so obviously Antonio.

Lovino didn't say another word. He simply threw his arms out almost violently and stole the captain away from the group and into his arms alone, seized by savage possessiveness, and Antonio responded just the same. If somebody had tried to pull Antonio away from him, he would have clawed their eyes out. Lovino didn't cry. He hadn't cried in a long time now, but every bone in his body was quaking. Out of relief, maybe. Sympathy. Satiated desire. Hysterical happiness. He didn't know. But it got harder to breathe right with every second that passed.

Lovino knew that nobody would ever be able to reach quite as deeply into him as Antonio did. Lovino had been stupidly brash as a twelve-year-old, when he'd completely given up on trying to make a good life for himself in Italy. There hadn't seemed to be a place for him with his own family. They were all so alike, and Lovino, scoundrel as he was, was so very different from them all. None of them had ever gone out of their way to alienate him. In fact, his mother and brother were often quite kind to him. His father favored Feliciano. His grandfather favored Feliciano. His mother, though her maternal instincts were strong, favored Feliciano.

Truthfully, Lovino himself had been the catalyst in the downward plummet his self-esteem had taken. Even after he'd lost his family in tragedy, little had changed in the dynamic. When Antonio found him, small and afraid, and offered him a place on his ship, Lovino eagerly took the chance to become somebody else. In the end, he hadn't really fit on La Esperanza either, a fact which wasn't helped by his tender age. Inherent nature was something he had no control over.

For some reason he still couldn't fully understand, where he fell short as a functioning social creature didn't seem to bother Antonio. The Spaniard, manifested as the God of Sea and Sun and Light and all things Good and Sweet and Warm in the world, had given Lovino more than he could ever repay him for.

Lovino felt like a sizable chunk of himself had been ripped off when Antonio let go and his jutting ribs and shoulders moved away. The Spaniard took a deep breath, took a few steps back, and wiped the tears off of his cheeks with a watery kind of smile. Looking at him now was nearly painful, with how sickly and drawn he was, but even still, he never stopped smiling. Francis' arm around his waist, and Gilbert's around his shoulders and the rest of his crew just in front calling him a miracle. With a crooked grin and green eyes filled with immortal life he regarded the crew, calling out something celebratory with a hoarse, scratchy voice that Lovino was too busy listening to to understand.

There was obviously something seriously wrong with Antonio in a medical sense, but that didn't stop his eyes from glowing in the twilight and his voice from raising infernal exhilaration in Lovino and the crew around him. They swelled forward, that band of loyal thieves, tossing their arms up into the sky and hollering, sending their triumphant chorus up into the air. Individual voices were lost, instead all weaving together into one song. Lovino's was among them, high and hoarse, his hands up grasping at the humid air over his head. He was lost in his own rapture. _El Hacha. Captain Fernandez. Antonio. Antonio. Antonio._ Lovino felt like he belonged again. An impressive feat to be pulled off by just one man, if a little cheesy.

Antonio's smile dimmed, though it didn't fall completely, and he leaned more on the two supporting him. He looked exhausted. The Captain asked for the duo's attention again with a simple "Ay, friends," and a smile that landed somewhere in between exhausted and sheepish. He didn't manage to look at them while he spoke, and his voice was much quieter than it had been before, though not quite ashamed. "I think I may need to go sit down-"

Before he'd gotten to finish they'd already carried him off towards a barrel, which he sat down on gratefully. It took him a second, a long moment of catching his breath before he looked back up and Lovino felt like his eyes were blazing right through him. They weren't as bright and powerful as he remembered, but there was still life, still a spark, and that was good enough for him.

Lovino had been around these people long enough to be influenced by them. It was visible in his actions, how he spoke, how he acted, even in how he stood when he was with them, with his shoulders pulled back and his legs apart, open and almost inherently challenging posture. This was seen especially often with young children surrounded by older, better, faster, stronger men whom they aspired to be like, at least to some degree. So it wasn't that strange, in Lovino's mind, when the incoherent whooping became words. Chiming battlecries of victory in a battle fought by just one man. Exclamations of hatred, sultry, hot, thick animosity for the British captain that had been the root cause of all these emotions in the first place. Lovino joined in their yelling, because he liked yelling and because there was nothing else to do. They kept moving around, shifting, every once in awhile someone remembering that there was cause for joy and then praising God or Antonio and damning Kirkland and his ship to the locker.

There were frequent revivals of the group jubilation, in which one man would cry out and then all the rest would follow. In another circumstance, Lovino might have tired of it. To be fair, he couldn't realize how the others had stopped screaming constantly already. He still felt like he was screaming in his head, the vigor of the wail renewed every time he turned away from the huddle of pirates to glance at Antonio instead, as if scared he would disappear if left unattended.

Some people were still cheering, others fluttered over to talk to Antonio. Even as he looked around the group, or turned back to see Gilbert and Francis still standing dutifully on either side of him, his eyes always found their way back to Lovino's, and each time Lovino could feel himself getting sucked in further and further until he was much closer to Antonio than before.

Antonio wasn't trying to smile anymore, but the corners of his mouth seemed to naturally curve upwards, characteristic of a joyful spirit as he watched the most loyal members of his crew dance around. The soft curve faltered, however, and didn't get a chance to say anything before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell right off of the barrel.

The internal scream he'd been carrying took a tone dive into panicked when the man up and fell right off the barrel even paler than he'd been when he stumbled into the group. Gilbert exclaimed, caught him, and straightened up to holler at the pack of howling wolves that they had to shut up and stop drawing attention to themselves. Lovino trotted towards Francis and Gil, who'd come to the conclusion that Antonio wasn't dead- Thank God. A quick back and forth between the two formulated a plan, which was then relayed to the group via Francis.

They moved like a funeral procession towards the inn, once again wary of every passing Juan and Scarlet. Paying for their board didn't take as much of a chunk out of the money they'd earned as they'd thought, when it was combined with the meager amount they'd had prior to today.

The day seemed to catch up to most of them. Some of them stayed in the common room to drink, while others crept upstairs and fell into a cheap bed. Fewer still stuck by Antonio, as he was carried up the stairs and laid into bed and covered with the holey, scratchy blanket. When Lovino returned from filling a jug with water and buying some stew from the grungy innkeeper from downstairs, whose eyes looked like little black chunks of coal lodged in soft dough, Gilbert was leaning against the wall in a chair by the window with his eyes closed, and Francis was saying something to him in a quiet voice that stopped when Lovino walked in.

There were a few words exchanged between the three of them, a tumbling laugh or two, and then they'd agreed to make watching Antonio a shift-based group effort. Gilbert left first, presumably to head down to grab a drink or two for celebration. Francis followed him soon after, but not before staring between the unconscious man and Lovino for far too long to be considered inconspicuous. Lovino pulled the chair from the window around to the right side of the bed and sat down. He didn't look at Antonio much, because he looked small and gray. Instead, he busied himself by chewing his nails and untying and retying the laces on his boots until he got sick of them and took them off altogether.

He wanted Antonio to wake up, but at the same time he almost hoped he was asleep and it was Gil or Francis who was around when he did. Talking to him again was likely going to be difficult for Lovino, for no fault of his own. They just had to ease back into their dynamic, if at all possible. Lovino wasn't the same boy he'd been, but how could something so natural, and so right, be changed by something so trivial. He was still Lovino. Looking at the thin man on the bed, he could only hope that Antonio on the inside was more truly Antonio than his body had become.

Lovino Vargas had leaned back against the wall behind his chair at some point after having eaten a couple spoonfuls of the stew before deciding he wasn't hungry enough to eat half of it, like he'd planned to. He dozed fruitlessly, unable to nod off for more than a couple minutes at a time and not really meaning to in the first place. There wasn't much else for him to do other than doze and fidget with things while he waited for Antonio to wake up.

A few times in the couple hours between when everybody got settled and when Antonio woke up, they were joined by a couple well-wishing crewmen drunked up on tavern swill. Francis and Gil returned in the quieter times and offered to take over for awhile, but ended up soundly defeated by a younger, stronger will. They left to sleep just across the hall with the promise to get up if they were needed.

 **Antonio- 1669**

His father had been a sailor as long as he could remember.

He'd always admired his father for being able to do such a noble, freeing job. Antonio loved watching the boats in the harbor, and often got a bunch of the neighbor boys to play sailor with him in a make pretend ship. It had been his dream, since an early age, to be just like his father.

Every time Antonio would declare such a thing, his mother would get this odd look on her face that bordered somewhere between pitying and disappointed. Antonio never understood what it meant, or why it happened for years. And even then he only assumed it was because his mother missed his father so much that bringing him up made her sad, or that she didn't want her son to be gone as much as his father was.

He was such a naive child.

That was why, when his father came home one day after a nearly year-long absence (which wasn't odd for him. They lived far inland, and Antonio's mother always told him that his father didn't have time to come hiking back home every few months or so) and asked Antonio if he wanted to join the ship he agreed almost instantly.

Many nights, before and after leaving the port, Antonio had wondered why he didn't pick anyone of his other siblings. Marco was stronger, Emilio was wiser, but his father assured him with was because none loved the ocean as much as Antonio.

Antonio took the explanation without question. It made sense, after all; He had adored ships and boats and the ocean even before he'd gotten to see it for himself.

His first, and only role on the ship had been a very, _very_ early apprentice for his father on different merchant ships that may need him. His father got many more jobs with Antonio, as anyone who hired him could get twice the work for the price of one. When one of the indignant workless men still on port told the little boy that the extra jobs were the only reason he was keeping him around he had punched him square in the nose.

However, working on the ship with his father wasn't the joy Antonio had thought it would be. His father was often angry, always drunk, and took out most of his frustration on his young son who had tried to do everything he could to avoid the man's wrath. Antonio swabbed the deck, did most of his father's duties as well as whatever meaningless tasks someone assigned to him, but he still found himself cowering later that night from the very man he had always- and still did, much to his own chagrin- looked up to.

He'd learned to do just about everything there was to know about sailing in those months. The other men on the ship had pitied him at first, and had been kind enough to take him away from his father's heavy hand for an hour or so when they felt generous to teach him their job on the ship. It had started with an old coot who, as he told Antonio, had been much like the little boy's father until his son knocked half of his teeth out, took everything of value- including his wife- and left. Antonio liked to pretend that that man was his real father, and he'd just managed to skip years on until he was nicer and didn't hit him when he didn't understand something.

Unfortunately, Antonio had never gotten to see his father turn into that man.

One day they were docked in a small coastal city, and, as usual, everyone was in the pub, when a notorious band of pirates came in for a drink themselves. His father had gotten drunk- had probably already been- and started a fight with one of the high ranking men on the pirate ship out of something he considered personal spite.

His father lost, but swaying and bleeding had quickly asked for a rematch. Everyone in the pub had laughed, except for Antonio and a few others. The lithe ten year old sat in his seat behind his father quietly, as he'd been instructed to do, and was trying not to make eye contact with the men across the room. The pirate took his father up on the offer on a condition- he was only interested if there was something for him to gain, for he'd already bruised a knuckle or two beating the other man's hard head in.

So Antonio's father offered up something.

He grabbed Toni roughly from the stool, making him stumble a bit but offer no protest, held him tightly by the upper arms, and offered his own son. Antonio had hoped someone would do something, or say it wasn't fair. Maybe the old man would talk his father down and apologize to the pirate for all the trouble. They never did, offering pitying glances that Antonio was getting very, very tired of, and offering no real help. The pirate expressed his interest, and his father lost a few teeth, his pride, and his son within five minutes.

Antonio was forcefully taken by a band of pirates terrified, and impressionable. The band of rowdy men ended up being more of a family than anyone else- including his own mother- had even been. Especially after he was able to impress them by knowing more than some of the other men on the ship they became a paradox of nurturing teachers and bloodthirsty pirates that Antonio began to imitate.

Even now the Spaniard believes that it was fate.

 **Lovino- 1675**

Lovino had never felt anything like this. It was a little bit like turning inside out, every bit of his being feeling exposed and sensitive and fragile. Everything hurt, though he hadn't so much as been touched.

It was lucky the men in his house were making such a ruckus, or they would have heard the twelve-year-old's labored breathing as he stifled his emotions into his damp sleeve while hiding in the pantry not twenty feet away. There was a strange sort of claustrophobia tightening the walls of his haven around him as the sounds just past the door raged on, echoing in his head. His mama's wavering Italian and broken Spanish, pleading, distraught, tearful.

Feliciano and his father were silent as the grave now, and Lovino couldn't fight the violent guilt anymore than he would have been able to fight the violent men. He knew it wasn't his fault that this was happening, but he felt that he should at least be out there dying with his family. They should die as a family. He wasn't dumb enough to think that his mama and Feliciano would survive this. He didn't even think he would. When they ravaged the house for their valuables, they'd find Lovino in there and they'd kill him. Laugh and spit at him like they were now, like deep-voiced hyenas with swords for fangs.

Mama was quiet now too.

Lovino's lungs ached deep in his chest as he cried his silent tears, and he hardly flinched when he heard the front door bang open again. There was a new voice, more powerful than the others, and it wasn't laughing.

There was heavy silence from the hyenas and he could faintly hear a new, low, furious cadence in the main room followed by the slow, alarmingly heavy taps of authoritative boots against the ground. Lovino could hear himself now, quiet sniffles and swallows of dusty air, but he couldn't have been any quieter if he tried. So what if they found him. What else could he do but die, now, anyway?

He didn't have to listen to his own pitiful whimpers for long, however, because the new voice yelled, screamed at the men that they were horrific and disgraceful ("And a _child!_ " He screamed), as soon as he heard them try to explain themselves and Lovino couldn't help but be happy that this new man felt the same way he had. Based on the fire and hatred in the man's voice, the passion with which he regarded them for what they'd done, Lovino would have thought it was the man's own family that lay slaughtered in the other room. The man's voice emphatically switched between Italian and Spanish as if he couldn't remember what language he was supposed to be speaking in his distraught rage.

Lovino Vargas heard footsteps leaving the house, heavy and rushed and he knew the hyenas had left when they stopped with a slam of the front door. Lovino wished the new man with the golden, angry voice would have killed them instead of just yelled at them. Lovino wanted to kill them. He could see himself chasing them down and driving daggers into their chests. Overwhelming them as they had been, though he knew it was nothing more than a vengeance fantasy that was suicidal at best.

He couldn't even be grateful that they had left, because that meant Lovino was expected to leave the pantry and witness the carnage for himself. What choice did he have? Sure, he could stay in the pantry for the rest of his life. He would end up a skeleton in the closet, half-witness to the destruction of the entire Vargas bloodline all at once.

The men had not killed him, but they had doomed him. The longer the silence beyond the door continued, the less worried he became with concealing his presence, and his sobs grew in volume to a hysteric pitch. He figured that the latecomer had left, until he heard the steady footfalls entering the kitchen. Lovino sucked in a breath as he spoke in a foreign, but vaguely familiar, language. The same language that had been taunting, and then yelling not much earlier. He was desperately still, clutching his knees to his chest and pressing his lips together in a trembling line as he quickly stifled his whimers.

Maybe the man would just go away. Just because he didn't sound dangerous didn't mean he wasn't.

When the man spoke next, Lovino could understand it; it was in Italian this time. "It's alright to come out little one, I won't hurt you. The bad men are gone now, it's only me."

He still didn't respond. He didn't move, except to take a short breath. In any other situation, he would have glowered and replied that he wasn't little. He was practically a man by now. But he couldn't. He wanted to believe in the compassion behind those words like he'd never wanted anything before, but he just _couldn't._ He had no idea who "only me" was. And so his measured breaths continued and his eyes, scared into dryness, kept flickering between the rectangular halo of light around the door and the solid darkness surrounding him.

Any second now the man would walk away, and if he didn't now, he would when he saw that it was just Lovino and nothing worth feeling sorry for.

But he didn't. The man with the golden voice waited patiently, squatting outside of the pantry, only a few feet away, for the child to open the door- he could vaguely see him through a slit in the pantry door, but he couldn't bring himself to look for more than a second.

The other man sighed, and there was a rustle of fabric- the man standing up, he assumed- followed by a few steps forward with feet so light they couldn't have possibly belonged to the man who was stomping around earlier.

Lovino thought he was finally leaving. The footsteps stopped directly in front of the pantry.

The new voice was still gentle, and warm, and golden when he spoke again, and Lovino was surprised. The tone hadn't changed. The man wasn't frustrated or upset. "I am going to open the door, yeah?" He warned, and then he did just that.

The kid would have lurched to make an attempt at holding the door shut with all of his adolescent might if he'd been given enough time between the words and the opening of the door. As soon as the sturdy wood swung away from him he shifted rapidly, pressing himself harder into the shelves behind him and wishing that he could morph with the wood and disappear as light flooded in to reveal Lovino among ill-stocked pantry shelves.

Lovino didn't know how long he'd been in the pantry, maybe ten minutes or several hours, but it was long enough that the sudden light made his wide eyes ache as his pupils adjusted. All of the stillness he'd been forcing left him as he trembled, meeting this new man's eyes, simultaneously challenging and fearing him. It could have been a trick of the light, but this man seemed just as golden as his voice. Lovino looked a mess, and he knew he did. His face was pale and blotchy, with still visible tear tracks- he angrily rubbed at his cheeks to try and rectify his appearance though he knew it wouldn't do any good.

Golden Guy crouched so they were more or less eye to eye. Even in the low light, Antonio had the most hypnotizing eyes Lovino had ever seen. Not that he'd seen anything much other than browns and hazels, but he'd never seen a color so vibrant and piercing. They were green, _really_ green. Like legendary emeralds. Like fairy-tale poison. Those eyes curved when he smiled, though it was rather grim and didn't involve any teeth. "Look, you're okay."He assured "I'm not going to hurt you." He held out his empty hands, as if to prove that point. "Will you come out for me, please? You can't stay in there forever, you know."

If he couldn't trust this man, and he knew that he couldn't, then he was downright determined to stay in the pantry forever, regardless as to what the man said. The pantry, at least, had some semblance of safety. That was more than he could say for the rest of the house, gutted and assaulted as it was.

This new man certainly wasn't dressed like a hero would be. In fact, he was dressed far more like a villain, but the seriousness and the gravity still steeping his words had an almost mesmerizing quality. Lovino opened his mouth to speak, though he didn't move yet. "Who are you?" he croaked, his voice raw.

As charming as he was, Lovino refused to move, and his skepticism brought a little smile to the man's face. A small, slightly yellow-tooth smile graced Lovino, and he realized with no small amount of confusion that it was supposed to be reassuring.

"I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Captain." he answered, moving to sit in front of the boy cross legged, close to the entry, but not so close as to make the boy feel trapped. His voice was amiable, and soft, as if he wanted nothing more than to have a nice chat with the sacred thing hiding in the pantry. It made Lovino suspicious because he desperately wanted to trust him. "Can you tell me your name, little one?"

After staring at Antonio for a moment more, eyes narrowed and posture rigid, he slowly, quietly answered "Lovino." He didn't dare give a last name. He wasn't stupid. He knew his last name could have very well been what the rest of his family had just been killed for.

Antonio smiled again, encouragingly, and scooted the slightest bit closer. Lovino pressed himself even harder against the shelves. "Lovino? Well, Lovino, tell me, do you know what your father did for a living?"

Lovino let some of the stiffness ease out of his posture at that, but he still perched warily in the pantry. He'd stopped crying almost completely for now, only sniffling every once in awhile. He scrubbed at his eyes, cautiously watching the man that had introduced as Antonio Fernandez Carriedo sit comfortably, amiably, on his kitchen floor. If he was going to kill Lovino, he figured he would have done it already, unless he was some sadist and had some awful plan in mind for Lovino that was worse than death. "He is a sailor," Lovino replied.

He didn't realize until after he was finished speaking that he'd have to use 'was', now, instead of 'is'. The thought earned an odd, slow-moving shudder that meandered up his spine and stopped at the nape of his neck, raising the hairs. He felt no aching sorrow at the loss of his father, who had scarcely even acknowledged Lovino as a son, but what his mother and brother would leave behind would more than make up for that.

The word 'captain' had struck Lovino, though. Captain, like on a ship "Are...were you his captain?"

Rather pleased that the kid was responding and wasn't in some horrible state of panic or shock, Antonio seemed no longer concerned about the chaos outside.

Antonio nodded, solemnly. "Aye, I was. But, see, he wasn't just a sailor."

Lovino didn't see what Antonio was hinting at, when he said that his father hadn't just been any old sailor. Lovino didn't know there were different kinds of sailors. He figured Antonio was going to flip it and tell it like his father was the best man Antonio knew to comfort him. It would be a lie if he did, and they'd both know it, and Lovino desperately wanted to know the truth. It didn't take any more prompting than an expectant silence and searching eyes to get the captain to continue.

"Your father was a pirate. The navigator. A very good one, in fact. I was always as loyal to him as he was to me." Antonio leaned in as if he were telling a secret that the corpses in the main room couldn't know. "He talked about his family often, you know. Fairly certain that's the only reason he ever hit the high seas with us. To provide for you."

Lovino was surprised, to say the least, when Antonio said that he was a pirate. Aghast, more like. Sure, his father was a deserter with uneven income, but that didn't mean he had the stones to be a pirate. Much less someone who only did it for his family. Lovino's expression morphed from its sorrowful glower into a taken-aback frown, angry. He might have looked a little more intimidating if his face wasn't still round and elfish with youth. "You're lying!" he spat, a sudden, shaking strength padding his words. He couldn't exactly explain why Antonio might lie about this. Maybe, still, because he thought it would make him feel better about his father's passing. Maybe to frighten him. His eyes were tearing up again. "I don't believe you."

Antonio smirked, as if Lovino's reaction pleased him somehow, and raised his hands in a mock-surrender. Lovino regarded him with narrowed eyes and a shaky countenance. "Alright, there's no need to shout." Antonio soothed, "What reason have I to lie? I assure you, I'm not that cruel, but I cannot convince you of this if you don't want to believe me. It's not as if we can ask him anymore."

Lovino started to yell something about how Antonio couldn't tell him what to do, but he didn't finish it before it became incoherent. The sobbing had returned, tenfold the sobbing from just before their brief conversation. It was as if his subconsciousness had decided that the captain wasn't a threat worth its whole attention and melted back into its comfortable lenient zone of tears and trembling. He couldn't even pinpoint exactly why he was crying, now. It was obviously to do with his family, but it was the mention of his father who'd brought it on- and Lovino harbored no particularly warm feelings for the man. He supposed he'd never have a chance to prove himself as worthy to him now that he was dead. On the other hand, what did it matter? For such a young thing, he was acutely aware of his own misery, and that only made him cry harder.

Antonio catapulted himself forward when Lovino abruptly started crying again, and Lovino thought he was going to hit him. He couldn't see the troubled expression through all the salty water in his eyes, after all. The captain never quite made it to the boy, however, before he stopped himself and moved to sit back on his haunches.

They sat there until Antonio's feet went numb and Lovino was on his way towards dehydration, waiting for him to calm down and wondering how to comfort the kid that he'd grown rather fond of. Eventually Antonio moved to pick him up, stooping awkwardly into the pantry and trying his hardest not to jerk Lovino around to get him up into his arms. He came complacently enough, and even held onto the cloth of Antonio's shirt once he was situated. He asked Lovino if he was alright, and if he wanted to go back to his father's old ship with him. He only received babbles and sobs in response.

Carefully Antonio made his way through the house, holding Lovino in some combination of bridal style and fireman hold that ended up being the most convenient. One arm was under him, supporting Lovino like a makeshift chair while the other kept him steady. Physically, of course, because it had never been in the Italian to be emotionally steady and he highly doubted that he ever would be. Antonio had the mind to perch him precariously on that one arm as he exited the house so he could cover the boy's eyes with the other hand.

Lovino assumed he was trying to keep him from seeing the carnage even if he heard it in action and could smell the metallic twang of blood and sweat in the air. Lovino, at the time, had no idea that this was when his life finally began.

 **Antonio- August 1681**

Antonio hadn't been able to sleep well. It was understandable, really, that when a captain who was usually too paranoid of attack to sleep very heavily was put directly into the hands of his greatest enemy sleep became even harder. Had he not been so hard pressed to occupy himself one way or another in the hull of the ship he probably would have stopped sleeping entirely. Even now, when he knew he was safe subconsciously, he couldn't kick the instinct that sent him shooting up not three hours after he'd passed out and searching the room like he was in immediate danger. He couldn't remember his dream, but by the racing of his heart and the cold sweat he knew he'd been having another nightmare.

He was disoriented at first, and he stared around the room like he was ready to fight it for not making sense before he saw Lovino- he looked like he'd been nearly startled out of his chair- and everything clicked into place slowly. It calmed him down exponentially to know the Italian was right at his bed side. A familiar, friendly face, and a familiar hopeful feeling.

Leaning back against the wall, he let out a heavy sigh which quickly turned into a coughing fit that took him an embarrassingly long time to suppress. He threw the small blanket off of himself. He felt like he was burning up. Knowing Lovino watched the entire waking up ordeal didn't help the unnecessary heat in his cheeks either.

"Morning, Vino- Uh, is it morning?" His voice was even more hoarse than before. When he tried to chuckle it sounded more like the hacking coughs from before. "I don't really- uh... what happened?"

Lovino waited in frozen awkward silence for a moment. "No, it's...it's late. I don't know what time, exactly. The sun went down a couple hours ago." He stood up to move his chair so it was facing the bed, and, Antonio noticed, just a little bit closer to it, before he sat down again.

"You passed out and fell off of a barrel." Lovino said it matter-of-factly, confirming the truth that Antonio was as much of a wreck as he feared. "You should eat."

Antonio knit his eyebrows and shook his head, running his hand through curls that had long since turned into something frizzy and unruly and altogether unpleasant to have on his head. He probably had lice or something. He needed to cut it. He also needed to eat, and he was well aware of that fact, but between eating very little, sometimes nothing, for a few days at a time and likely being sick he was in no mood for any kind of food. He shook his head again, as if to solidify the thought in his head that he didn't want food so it could, perhaps, pass the message on to his growling stomach.

"I'm fine at the moment. I had a banana... yesterday? Some nice travelers gave it to me." He smiled, trying to push all the feelings he didn't want to show below the easy action. "Who'd have thought people like that even came to Tortuga of all places." He was smiling, if only slightly, and he couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from Lovino, whose face was twisting in some kind of aghast confusion. Either the past few months had been very kind to him, or Antonio's memory had been off. He suspected some combination of the two, though it would have been the first time anyone had ever been more attractive in real life than memories.

Lovino scooted forward in his chair, his palms flat on his legs just above where his knees folded. His frown was easy and familiar. "All kinds of people end up in Tortuga," he replied, noncommittal. That was something that could be picked up within the first day or so of being here, if not by the rumors about the place. But that was a mere acknowledgement. Antonio knew Lovino didn't _actually_ want to talk about the diverse rascals that populated the pirate haven. "I think you misunderstood," he continued, reaching for the bowl of stew on the nightstand and holding it out to Antonio. "I wasn't asking if you wanted to eat. You're going to eat. At least a little bit. If you don't want this I could find something else."

Remaining in his leaning perch, Lovino handed over the stew and watched, completely still and expectant. When Antonio thought about not taking a bite after all, and with how intensely he was scrutinizing the lumps of meat and vegetables it didn't seem like he would, a challenging glint flared golden eyes and Antonio raised his spoon to meet it.

The Captain didn't think seeing someone frown would ever bring him such happiness. It was old times, it was familiar, and it was comfortable. And yet there was something new about it. Lovino didn't seem like the same scared teenager he'd remembered. Lovino now was more confident, assertive, and it took him by surprise that someone from his crew besides his First Mate or his Quartermaster were telling him what to do and he was following it without question. Something told him he should have been bothered by the switch in positions, but it seemed too natural to take issue with.

Antonio raised a brow, though he didn't look upset so much as he looked impressed. He was staring so hard at a carrot floating in the unnamed broth that when he spoke it almost seemed like he was talking to the stew instead of Lovino. "I'm telling you, I'm not hungry." He pushed, feeling guilty at denying Lovino's caring gesture. His stomach growled, and he stared at the bowl for a minute before he visibly deflated. "But if you insist. Just a little bit."

Staring at it for just a little longer, as if that would make it settle easier, Antonio took a cautious bite. It certainly wasn't the best stew he'd ever had, but in that moment, when he only had months of gruel to compare it to, it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. He didn't even have time to express his love for it before he scarfed down half the bowl, hardly chewing before swallowing to make room for another spoonful until one spoonful stopped halfway to his mouth, and Antonio turned a little green. His head, and consequently his stomach, was spinning again, but he handed it back to Lovino claiming that he felt so full he could hardly think of another bite. Lovino took it with a skeptical look, but he didn't press.

After sitting there for another minute or so, legs crossed, hands on his knees, and his eyes staring intensely into Lovino's he spoke again, looking considerably less green. "That was very possibly the best stew I have ever eaten," He sounded like he was speaking of something of dire importance. "Which is very very sad because I'm sure it was actually very mediocre."

Lovino's eyes were warm, even if his lips stayed in their easy frown. He looked pleased. "I'm amazed you even tasted anything, you ate so fast," he commented dryly, finally setting the bowl on the nightstand from where he'd held it while Antonio tried to keep himself from throwing it all up. "There's water too, if you're thirsty."

Instantly he nodded to the offer of water. He had long since stopped thinking about fresh water to try and forget such a luxury existed, as he was mostly given fermented remnants of whatever the crew gave up and never even any proper rum, which was much less of a rarity than water on board a ship. It was a little pathetic, even Antonio knew, that his eyes sparkled so at the mere mention. He held out a hand, and once he had the entire jug of water in his hands he raised it to chapped lips. It disappeared almost as quickly as the stew had.

Finished and properly waterlogged, Antonio set the jug on its side on the bed, and Lovino's frown lessened into more of a neutral state. Most people drank alcohol when they had to drink something. Even the water jug tasted faintly of old rum, and Antonio wondered what lengths Lovino had to go through to get it in a place like Tortuga.

A comfortable silence had fallen on them, where Lovino was staring at Antonio's gaunt features with such a despondent expression it almost made Antonio self conscious. He was aware he was a mess in every sense of the word, but there was no reason anyone besides Antonio needed to know it as well. He was sure Francis had already gone out in search of some doctor that he really didn't need. It was common knowledge at this point, how to treat these kinds of things. Rest and fluids and plenty of tomatoes would take care of the scurvy and the fever and anything else that plagued him.

The two of them stayed like that for a while, staring at one another, saying nothing, and feeling like they were sharing everything. They had been close before the separation of nearly half a year. Antonio wasn't sure how they seemed to be even closer now.

"You need a haircut," Lovino murmured after a while, his voice quiet, almost shy, and incredibly endearing.

Antonio reached up to finger the greasy split ends of his hair. Lovino was right: his hair was nearly as long as Francis' and in a far worse condition. Had he seen his reflection anywhere after getting off of the ship he probably would have stopped and shaved it all off. Antonio was never a man who cared about aesthetics, but simply by running his hand through his hair- which was always a bad idea, frizzy and matted or not- he could tell it was very, very bad.

"I do. Very badly." He agreed, and he let go of his dark hair to fiddle instead with the light brown, unraveling ends of the blanket that had been draped across his lap. It almost looked like a potato sack. It felt like one too. And it felt so much better than the wet planks. "Maybe you could cut it? You do such a good job on your own, after all." There was the flash of a smile that was reminiscent of the sun, but now seemed more like a very bright, very far away star instead.

"It's not like it's hard," he shrugged, rolling his shoulders and leaning back in his chair. "But whatever." He conceded. There was a light dusting of pink, hardly noticeable in this light, across the bridge of his nose and spreading over his cheeks.

Antonio had forgotten how much he missed that color.

Everything was silent for a while after that, and Antonio took the time to fully notice some of the differences in Lovino. He looked a little... fuller, like he'd finally grown into his clothes, and he seemed to radiate more confidence. The boy that Antonio had helped raise since early adolescence was turning into a man now, and he was a very very achingly attractive one, as much as Antonio would have liked to ignore it for the sake of his moral compass. He'd had a hard time controlling his thoughts before his stint in isolation. And absence, as they say, makes the heart grow fonder.

Antonio almost wasn't thinking anymore. Both his eyes and his voice had gone soft, and he was confronted with the foreign feeling of having no idea of what to do. When he did break the silence, it was almost subconsciously. He might have surprised himself had he not been desensitized. "You look well, Lovino. Much better than I imagined." He paused for a second, contemplated, and then decided that he might as well elaborate. "Kirkland was devastatingly clever, you know. He told me you were sick, and injured, and then he told me you were dead along with most of the rest of the crew, and I could have given up right then. In a way he won because of that. I didn't want to live on- there was enough water in certain areas that I could have drowned myself if I tried. But I didn't, and I couldn't figure out why. I thought about it, about you, a lot." He had looked away during his babbling, but now his eyes locked back onto Lovino's as they were wont to do. "I'm glad I didn't now. I would have never gotten to see you again. Vino, you look so good! Ay, I remember when didn't yet have hair on your upper lip and now look at you." Antonio shut up then, and he left it with that, though his eyes and the somber quirk of his lips continued to say what he hadn't the words to.

The dim light from the single lantern on the nightstand tossed wild shadows on the walls as the light sputtered bravely onward into the night. It seemed to get just a little bit darker. Just a little bit draftier. The shiver that roamed up his spine was well-timed with a thud and a cry from a clumsy drunk down the hall.

"What are you talking about? That sounds creepy, you know, do you even listen to yourself? Stop staring at me," Lovino forced out, trying to force his tone to sound like it normally did when he was invested in defending himself. His heart just wasn't in it, even Filipe could have seen. Antonio couldn't help but smile at the reaction that was so characteristic of Lovino it almost hurt. Five months may change a lot, but it didn't change everything.

With a wide smile Antonio mumbled something along the lines of "But you're still staring at me", though he didn't comment any further, and he never looked away. How could he, when Lovino was so captivating? His eyes were even more golden that he remembered. They put Kirkland's treasure stash to shame with how they sparkled when he was happy. This was not one of those times.

The Italian's tone remained just as flat when he opened his mouth next, but it waivered on the edge of the deep, aching kind of emotion that Lovino knew best. "He- Kirkland, I mean- only kept us for a few weeks. One day he told us you were dead and that we had to get the Hell off his ship in the same breath. Most of us didn't believe him. Everybody started yelling all at once. Gil kept screaming at him to show us the body if you were so dead, but Kirkland just laughed at us and had his crew drag us onto the dock. He just _laughed._ Like it's all some big game to him. He was still laughing when he went back into his cabin." He shrugged once, and then twice, staring at the dirt beneath his fingernails in an effort to seem nonchalant. "I guess it is a game to him. He's clever, sure, but a bigger bastard has never existed."

Antonio was practically leaning off of the bed he listened so intently to what Lovino had said. They were only there a few weeks? With how accurately Kirkland could describe everyone well into his stay, Antonio had figured they had to still be there. Hell, he'd figured that meant he had to be _right._ "It is a big game to him, and he thinks he's got it all figured out. Gets a kick out of playing God."

The withered pirate captain couldn't figure out if he was flattered by the fact that everyone believed him to be stronger than Kirkland made him out to be and that they had been so loyal as to bellow and fight to stay on the enemy ship, or if he should have been worried about the sway he seemed to have. He'd known he was a well loved captain, but he'd never figured that their loyalty would spread so far. It filled him with the same kind of warmth in that small moment of time as when everyone had scrambled to hug him and cheered and called it a miracle before he had passed out. It felt like family. It felt like home.

There was a second or two of heavy silence before his Lovino's eyes flared with flashbang fury that had Antonio hanging on every word he said before he had even spoken in a dark, determined tone. "I'm gonna kill him, you know. Even though you're alive, I'm gonna kill him." There wasn't a shred of humor in his voice, nor his expression.

Antonio's first response was a chuckle, dark and just as humorless as the smile that accompanied it as he waved Lovino's declaration off without so much as a thought to the loyalty it expressed. To think he'd once been afraid of mutiny. "That's sweet, but I'm sorry, I just can't allow you that honor." He shifted on the bed, moving so he was sitting back against the wall. "I'm going to kill him, Lovino. You can help, of course, as long as I get to be the one to take his smug little head off. Do you know how much I've fantasized about that?"

Lovino didn't argue. He didn't say anything, in fact, he only looked a little guilty.

Antonio paused, staring at Lovino across the wide space between them. He spoke in a subdued whine."Come here, Vino," He patted the bed next to him, making it very obvious exactly where 'here' was. "You're too far away."

Lovino squinted at him as if questioning his reasoning before standing up and walking over to the bed with little hesitation, and a frown that meant nothing, though he wavered at the edge of the bed for a moment before he actually moved to climb up onto it. "Move, dammit," he said, waving his hand in a shooing motion. "This bed isn't big enough for your fat ass to sit right in the middle of it."

The bed was hardly a double, but there was enough room for Lovino to slide in and make himself comfortable without the two of them touching when Antonio did as he was told and shuffled over to make room. Antonio, however, didn't scoot over as much as he could have out of the hope that maybe, perhaps, they could touch. He blamed it on being socially starved for almost half a year, but he gave into it anyway and reached forward to grab Lovino's hand once he was settled and it was resting so _so_ close.

At first he simply placed his hand on top of the smaller one, fully intending to let Lovino decide what to do with it, but it was hardly there a moment before Antonio grew impatient and moved to hold it properly anyway. It seemed that Lovino had grown callouses to make up for Antonio's now smooth palms, like he made up for all Antonio lost. Months with only a stuffy Brit for company wore away at Antonio's social skills to the point that he felt a little wary of everything he was saying. The horrible company hadn't, however, eroded his need to say everything on his mind and currently, with Lovino only a few inches away, he was drowning in gold and he could think of nothing else. All he could comprehend at the moment- and even that was little muddled- was the hand in his, and the way it felt like they fit together perfectly. When he spoke without thinking his words were hardly more than a whisper, something meant for only Lovino to hear and not the people next door that it would have been profoundly easy to eavesdrop on. "I missed you, Lovino. So much. Every night. One of my biggest regrets was that I couldn't see the stars, because at least I could have pretended we were gazing up at the same sight just to feel a little closer to you."

The Italian shifted, making like he was trying to get more comfortable on the old musty bed and inching a little closer. The words whispered between them were saved in the vault of the night. The rose coloring his cheeks, ears, and neck the only visible sign that he had heard him while he tried to look at everything that wasn't Antonio and pretend that the words hadn't caused his eyes to water as they were- and failed at both, mind you. All Antonio could think of was how stupidly lucky he was to have survived and found this angel of a man again who felt so deeply and so truly and had so much trouble expressing any of it.

"I missed you too," Lovino replied what felt like hours later, matching the Spaniard's pitch. Antonio had almost forgotten what they were talking about before. "If it makes you feel any better, though, we were both looking at wood a lot. Wood is pretty consistent wherever you go. That's gotta count for something."

Antonio could have died happy then and there when Lovino said he missed him too, and it showed on his hardened pirate face. He knew that Lovino wouldn't be sitting here, allowing this, if he hadn't felt something akin to the overwhelming adoration Antonio did. Even so, there was something to be said for confirmation of those thoughts, whether vocal or in the way their hands stayed entwined underneath the blanket. A secret both of them knew, but neither were willing to admit quite yet.

Despite all of the years spent on the high seas with many comrades coming and going and coming again he had never found one that affected him like Lovino. Under Kirkland's ship he had thought of Francis and Gilbert, of course, and everyone else on his crew, and it hurt to think that he may never see them again, and that they'd remember him as a failure of a pirate captain. But when he thought about Lovino it was different.

It was overwhelming how just the thought of him would make Antonio's heart swell and fall at the same time, like he had swallowed a giant cannon ball. When he saw him in person again, finally looking like the man Antonio always knew he'd be, it was intensified. He didn't know what it was, this great need to be closer in every way they could, this feeling that nothing was ever quite enough, that he always wanted more even if he wasn't sure what more was.

"That must count for something, no? Next time I'll look to the wood then. I'm sure it'd be more symbolic anyway."

"Next time?" Lovino repeated hotly, yet keeping his voice down to save their neighbors the bother and the interest. He sounded like Antonio had just said the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "There sure as hell won't be a next time."

Antonio didn't respond. His eyes were glossed over, stuck in memory and thought simultaneously, and he wasn't looking at Lovino anymore. His eyes were directed somewhere beyond the corner edge of the bed until they were interrupted with a yawn so forceful it closed his eyes for him as if it were trying to force him back to sleep. He came back to reality with a small chuckle and moved on. If there was anything he didn't want to talk about, it was that horrible ship.

"I think I may need to go back to sleep soon. This bed is horribly comfortable." Antonio paused for a second, moving to get situated while he sunk further underneath the blanket. "You can stay, if you'd like. Actually, you should. I really don't want to be alone." The last part was said quieter, hesitantly, as if it were a secret he didn't want to keep, but didn't want to say.

Lovino tossed his eyes in a roll that would make a stormy sea envious and complied, settling down beneath the scratchy blanket and stifling his own yawn trying to act as if he was bothered by it all. Antonio could feel his heart melt just the slightest bit more.

"You're a big baby, Toni," Lovino chided, but his voice was thick and warm and affectionate as he cuddled himself into the mattress. The light from the lantern on the table was barely enough to see by, but he still caught glimmers of rich, glittering gold turned brown by the darkness, slipping away as eyelids drooped and content smiles were lost to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part two is finally here! And a whole lot longer than it was originally supposed to be. This was the part I was excited for- where I really got to delve into their relationship and how it changed. As always, please review. Enjoy.**

 **-FEELS**

 **Lovino Vargas- August 1681**

Nineteen nights they spent in that tavern and the taverns surrounding it, feeding and forcing their captain to stay in bed and heal while they continued their rampage on the richer parts of the port. Some nights Lovino could be coerced into sleeping in the same bed as his captain. The scariest, most lethal pirate on the seven seas, and yet he couldn't spend a night alone (which was entirely understandable considering where he'd come from). More often than not he simply sat by the bed and dozed, awoken occasionally by the restless dreamer's fitful nightmares. It didn't matter where he sat, because it never failed that the Italian was in the Captain's room every single night. Lovino just wanted to look at Antonio most of the time, to remind him he was alive, as if his wishes alone would fill his frame out and bring the healthy color back to his skin.

On these nights Lovino found more comfort in the intertwining of their hands than he felt was acceptable. Antonio's presence itself had a very strong effect on him, naturally, but it was beyond just the relationship between a pirate and his captain. There was respect, of course. But the devotion was aching and unconditional, and nothing ever felt like it was enough. Their separation, though not as bad as it could have been (it could have been permanent, after all), was a lifetime. The crushing hug they'd shared when reunited was too short, and too loose. Antonio's hand just wasn't enough, yet they persisted, because it was so much better than nothing.

Antonio no longer slept as deeply as he once did, but he was sleeping, and he was resting, and that was all that mattered. He woke every few hours or so, jolted awake by some paranoid figment of his imagination, or a loud noise from another room, and that in turn would wake Lovino up. But overall they made it through the nights with relative ease.

On the third day Antonio declared that this was the best he'd ever felt in his whole entire life. He felt almost overly rested to the point where he only wanted to continue sleeping. He wasn't hungry or thirsty. He didn't feel nauseous most of the time, and his head only hurt slightly. He'd whined and huffed and demanded enough that he was finally allowed out of bed to actually walk around with everyone watching him like he'd keel over any second.

The fourth day he was so sick he could hardly sit up, but he certainly couldn't breathe well lying down. He was burning up, his head was pounding, and he wouldn't eat or drink anything for fear that it would come back up. Francis told him that was just his comeuppance for pretending he was alright. Lovino hardly left his room.

It took nearly a week after that before Antonio even started to feel better, and that was only after Lovino had finally run out to seek medical advice and to find out what, exactly, was ailing the man. The scurvy was easy enough to cure, and they had plenty of experience with it, but pneumonia was another matter altogether. That, on top of dehydration and malnutrition, were scary things. Lovino had screamed at the man when he said that Antonio probably wasn't going to make it. He was glad Antonio wasn't making him look like a fool for believing in him.

During the week Lovino had cut his hair, a semi-serious cut he'd gotten in the battle five months ago had gotten ointment and finally stopped burning- thank God it wasn't infected- he had gotten a proper shave, and everyone had quit forcing him to eat when, in the middle of forcing more stew at him, he evacuated all the contents of his stomach out of the window and onto some very disgusted patrons below. Everyone still on his crew had stopped by multiple times to wish him well and congratulate him and tell him how happy they were that he was back. He had nearly cried the first time, when they all came in at once, and he thanked them all for staying so loyal with a watery smile and a thick voice.

Arthur, and Antonio's hellish stay on the bottom of his ship, was only ever mentioned in the early early mornings and late late nights when Antonio would wake up from some dream or thought shaking and muttering. He'd start talking without any prompting, and often wouldn't stop for hours. He'd repeat himself, work himself up, talk himself down, and start it all over again. So much as hearing Arthur's name made Lovino want to punch through the wall, and they often ended these heavy discussions on the lighter topic of how to properly kill the man, and Lovino would have to promise to forfeit his right to do anything to help his captain when the time came.

The most important thing to him was that Antonio was alive, of course, not getting revenge. It was Arthur's fault that he had been physically and mentally destroyed, more or less, and so Antonio was more deserving of the satisfaction of killing him. That didn't mean that Lovino wouldn't think about it often, and in gruesome detail. Fate and Karma didn't have the courage to mess with men like Arthur. Unfortunately for the Brit, Antonio and the assorted, most loyal members of his crew had more than enough.

Perhaps he should have been afraid of Arthur, realistically, considering how capable he was and what he'd managed to do to the strongest man Lovino knew. He just got mad. Immeasurably, ridiculously, passionately furious. Being with his sickly captain, at this time of night and with how little sleep he'd been getting, it wasn't as sharp. More of a dull, constant ache, rounded by the grindstone of bitter dejection and inexplicable contentedness.

Of course, Lovino would never be truly content until Antonio could physically, if ever, do the things he used to do, and Arthur, the bastard, was somewhere at the bottom of the ocean.

Sometimes, when he had the mind, Antonio would become ashamed and embarrassed. He wouldn't speak to anyone that came into the room, and he'd shoo them out as quick as they came, but Francis had the sneaking suspicion that the watery, conflicted eyes overflowed every time they left. Lovino, though he agreed, was never really sure what he could do about it.

One day, right in the middle of some old fashioned bickering between all four of them- Francis, Gilbert, Lovino, and Antonio- he fell into one of his moods. He went completely quiet, and didn't even offer them a smile when he told them to leave. Lovino did as he was asked, but only just.

The Italian stood outside of the door for something like fifteen minutes, though he wasn't really sure why. At the time he'd have said it was spite because Antonio could make him leave the room, but he couldn't make him do anything more. When he heard heavy, heaving sobs and opened the door to find Antonio curled in on himself with the scissors Lovino had used to cut his hair misplaced and laying at the foot of his bed, he thought it was because, on some level, he knew Antonio needed him.

There was a lot more hugging than Lovino would ever admit to during those nineteen days. Most of the time it was requested by Antonio at the most random times, and Lovino always, if begrudgingly, complied. Even that one time Gilbert was there, much to the Prussian's amusement. Other times, usually later in the night when the shadows from the lantern made Antonio look much more frail, and gaunt, Lovino would remember the crushing feeling of losing his captain, and he'd approach the bedside nervously. Antonio always seemed to know what he wanted, and he'd open his arms without question.

Antonio ate every meal like he was a dying man- which, Lovino would argue passionately, he never was and never would be. Many days, especially in the first week, Antonio would end up going a majority of the day without eating or drinking because he would never ask for it. After he passed out from dehydration again- in the bed this time- they quickly learned that they were going to have to make him sustain himself.

Every serving of food was made by the Gods, and every sip of water was an oasis, and Antonio figured out very quickly that when he started waxing poetic about the food and drink it would make Lovino fall into a fit of, in his words, melodic giggles, and he started abusing that knowledge, much to Lovino's annoyance.

Still, it was bittersweet to watch the way he inhaled every bite of food as if it would be taken away from him. At least Antonio had survived long enough to get what he needed. He probably wouldn't die for awhile now, unless his sickness turned out to be something more severe (as if scurvy and pneumonia weren't severe enough).

There were always chances that someone would be killed, however, especially someone of Antonio's infamy. _El Hacha_ was a wanted man. Wanted by more than just the lawmen, unfortunately. They would have to wait their turns.

By the beginning of the third week on Tortuga, Antonio felt more or less cured, he thought. He was in the prime of his life. He never felt better. No one agreed with him. Gilbert still watched when he went walking around on the albino's shift, and he was always far too quick to bring Antonio back the moment he thought he was getting tired or when his stupid cough came back, despite the protests from the Spaniard. Lovino let him walk around a little more, but he never let him stay out of bed for long, and he never got far before he was herded back to his room whining the whole way. Francis was the only one who let him out of bed more, and who would wait until the Captain put away his pride enough to say he needed to lay back down.

He wasn't unaware of how forceful this was in comparison to how they should have been acting, but Lovino figured there was a sort of power shift considering the state of things. Antonio was ill, and he was exactly the kind of person who would inadvertently make themselves sicker by taking inadequate care of their bodies. He was a captain, and a fantastic one at that, but that wasn't all he was. Antonio was human and mortal. Friend first, captain second. His will was strong, but that alone wasn't enough to keep him alive. He was off the ship but he wasn't out of the metaphorical woods, so to speak.

Antonio tried to say he felt better, but it was painfully obvious that he didn't. He was never dim enough to try to convince them he was better, as he had that third day, but it was always painfully obvious that he was stretching the slightest improvement into an indirect way of saying he was cured. Every time he'd try, Lovino's only response would be a deadpan frown until Antonio gave up and moved on to something else.

Lovino didn't think frowning had ever felt so good as it did since Antonio returned. It was frowning at something that wasn't immediately troubling or life-threatening and dangerous. One of those old-fashioned affectionate frowns he used to be so good at. It felt a little rusty, but it was a blessing nonetheless.

Years ago Antonio had been his guardian, and had raised him to the best of his abilities when he had little experience in the nurturing field from his own childhood. Antonio had watched over him, taught him, and cared for him with all of his being. Without doing anything to deserve it, he'd been given Antonio. This flawless man. It almost felt like he was cheating something without his knowledge. Now it was Lovino's turn to give a little back, to shift the roles and take care of Antonio for a change. Lord knows the man could use a little nurturing.

There had been no talk of when they were setting sail again, or how they would acquire a boat, or even what they had been doing to wind up in Tortuga to Antonio, and Francis was very firm about the crew saying nothing either. When Antonio inquired about it he was told that they would talk about it later, and later still.

Many nights he had tried to convince Lovino tell him by playing the cruelest guilt trip he had ever heard. He would recount how he had been stagnant and useless underneath Arthur's ship for five months, and even still the man had managed to make him feel like a parasite, a burden on the ship and its crew, and how he refused to feel the same amongst these people, his family. He'd tell Lovino he was tired of only sleeping and walking and feeling like an invalid. He wanted to _move._ He wanted to _help_.

Lovino would tell him he was being stupid, that he still _was_ an invalid and he needed to rest to get better, and Antonio would pout for a while. Lovino had assumed he was spilling the same tale to Francis and Gilbert. When he tried to talk about it one morning with the Frenchman he found out he'd been wrong.

There were not many times in his life that Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had to yell to actually get what he wanted, but that fifteenth night in a Tortuga tavern had been one of them, and it caused him such an awful headache that he sent everyone out of his room and banished them until morning. Everyone was in an awful mood because of it- both he and Gilbert had nearly gotten in a fight with men at the bar and then with each other- but by the end of the night they had figured out how to fix it.

The next day Gilbert came into Antonio's room with a childishly excited grin on his face, and he finally sat down and talked business. From there it didn't take long to set a plan into action and execute it.

By the time Antonio was filling out and looking a little less ghostly, healthy enough that no one was afraid to take him back out on sea, they had two plans firmly set; One on how to get out of the port, and another on what to do after they had been successful.

On the twentieth night, a few hours short of three weeks since Antonio had been freed from Arthur's ship, he was finally on the sea again.

Around nine o'clock, a bulk of the crew, lead by an over-excited Captain, crept out onto the darkened docks and secured (read:stole) a ship, tossing a few lines and dumping some useless crates before they sent Lovino running to fetch the rest of the crew. Gilbert and Francis were among the second group, weighed down with provisions for the night.

It was a rather brilliant scheme, really, if a little simple. Once they were sure of the location of their target, Gilbert and two others had distracted just about everybody in the inn not wise to the plan, including the barkeep, by starting a fight. Lovino, Francis, and several others had slipped into the cellar, stocked up their crates with copious amounts of alcohol, and left the barkeep ignorant and dazed. The only difficulty had been getting Gilbert out of the fray before he was sure he'd won his fight.

They were hardly clear of the port before the whooping started, elated, some knowing what was to come and some simply following along. Gilbert quieted them suddenly, hopping up onto one of the crates he'd been carrying and holding up his hands. He began a speech about Antonio, long and humorous and spirited, investing those in the crew who weren't already overjoyed with enough energy to last them through the planned festivities.

Lovino wondered with a sigh how much Gilbert had already had to drink as he kicked the crate open to reveal an array of bottles. There were only fourteen men on board. They had three crates of alcohol, twenty five bottles in each. This was going to get ridiculous, Lovino could feel it, but when Gilbert had proposed it he'd been unable to say no. He knew Antonio would love it. Every wasted, intoxicated moment of it. As soon as each man had a bottle in his hand and the corks popped out, Gilbert raised his own and toasted the captain formally, followed by barbaric cheers and clanging glass and deep gulps and, under it all, Lovino's quiet, musing chuckles.

It was going to be a long night.

Antonio had watched Gilbert stand up to give a speech with fond eyes and a coy smile until he realized Gilbert was talking about him. Then he was stunned, and flattered, and he actually flushed when the whole crew let out a cheer in his honor. Francis had personally handed Antonio a rather fancy bottle of wine to start off with, before he left him with a wink and retreated to try his hand out at sea shanties.

Lovino Vargas retrieved the bottle he'd fetched for himself by hand when he'd been sent in specifically to scout out the cellar of one of the classier inns, where they'd gotten all their booze. Lovino's own bottle of wine (French-made, but better than whiskey or rum) was raised to the captain and then lowered without a sip being taken. He intended to nurse this bottle, because it was all he had of the finer stuff. The bitter taste of hard alcohol had never sat well with him, regardless of how often he was forced to drink it. The company he kept was never 100% sober.

Still, as he watched the festivities from his comfort zone against the edge of the ship, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry or upset in any way. Pirates or not, they were family. Good men who did bad things, exceptionally well. The sound of crummy music and boisterous singing were distanced when Antonio found his way, teetering only slightly, over to his sanctuary. Without saying anything, he moved to stand with Antonio to his right side so he could see him properly. Lovino had downed only a fifth or so of what still swished in his bottle, so he heard every buzzed ramble Antonio let loose crystal clear. His expression remained neutral, no matter how ridiculous the exclamations about sharks became. He wasn't really listening. Not until Antonio's voice dropped to a clearer, introspective cadence.

"It feels so good to be out of the sea again. It's easy to forget the freedom of a ship, however addicting it is. But do you know what I'm the most excited for?" He leaned in and lowered his voice like he was going to tell a secret. "I can't wait to see the sun setting on that beautiful blue horizon again. The colors it reflects off of calm waters. Magnifico." He flashed Lovino a smile- considerably brighter than it had been a few weeks ago- and took another swig from the bottle.

He was elated at how smoothly things had gone, but too at peace to bother with expressing himself. Lovino only nodded with a faint smile in concurrence at the acknowledgement of the sea's beauty. He turned away from the captain then, to lift his head upward. Inhaling deep filled his head with the salty coolness of a tropical night on the ocean, both soothing and exhilarating. The seas had been all Lovino knew for enough years that it felt like going home to be back on a ship where he truly felt safe and in control. "You're such a sap," he murmured warmly, giving Antonio a sly sideways look and taking a measured sip of rich wine. "You should have been a poet."

Antonio's lips curved up when he spoke, as they always did, but it wasn't the bright confident smile it usually was. It was softer, and meant only for the man beside him. "I'm only capable of waxing prose with a decent amount of alcohol in my system. Certainly not a smart way to make a living. Besides, I wouldn't get to yell at people and steal things as a poet. They're always so lonely and depressed." He tilted his bottle, as if planning to take another drink, but it only hovered an inch or so away from his lips before being lowered again.

Lovino eyed the fat moon for a moment before dropping his head to the less majestic sight of the writhing, intoxicated, sweaty bodies of their mates. Gilbert was nowhere in sight, but Lovino knew he was either so far into the very middle of the throng that he was hidden by bulkier men, or that he would show up in an explosive way in a few moments. He could hardly call the behavior of the albino, and his like-minded friends, 'charming,' but there was something about it that irked him less than it would have half a year ago. It wasn't a mystery to him why it seemed that way. Things had changed while Antonio was gone. _Lovino_ had changed, whether he'd meant to or not. Having a constant shield of five years be taken thoughtlessly away in less than five minutes was enough of a culture shock to force that kind of change. Even with all that change, he still wrinkled his nose at some of the crude jokes he heard spat from liquored throats.

Antonio wasn't looking at Lovino anymore. He was watching the rowdier crew members make complete fools of themselves on the other side of the deck as well. He could hear their expletive coated bellows perfectly clear, and Lovino thought, with a pang, that Antonio would rather be talking to them instead of standing in muted conversation with his far younger cabin boy, who was much past his prime. When his jaw tensed, Lovino knew he was about to excuse himself to go join the fun.

"Hey, how about we take this to my new quarters. I haven't even seen it yet."

He hadn't been expecting that.

It was a relief, in a way, and flattering beyond words. Antonio was not only keeping Lovino company instead of the other shipmates, he was suggesting they take it somewhere more private. He couldn't help but smile, the smallest bit, when he looked over to see Antonio looking hopeful of all things.

In one hand he clutched his wine while the other plucked a lantern from its hook. He nodded towards the captain's quarters. Only Gil had been inside so far, to make sure nobody was on board. Lovino was curious, and in no place to turn Antonio down. "Lead the way."

Antonio's movements were dramatic on the short walk to the Captain's quarters. Elbows swinging, and feet kicking, he threw open the door with a flourish and a "Da da ta da!" and was met with the most boring Captain's quarters they'd ever seen. There was absolutely nothing personal decorating the walls or shelves, except, perhaps, a very fancy globe with a woman's hat on it on one of the many shelves.

"I'm going to have to redecorate." Antonio declared, hardly a step into the room. "No, not re. Just decorate. Did this man own anything?" He leaned down momentarily to examine the globe in the little light offered from the lantern before he got bored of it, and he went to sit down in the worn out, high backed chair behind the large, battered desk and start rifling through the drawers, throwing them open just as hard as he slammed each of them shut.

Lovino was disappointed, to say the least, at the barren captain's quarters. This would surely never live up to Antonio's standards, he knew, even before the man had opened his mouth to start complaining. It had the potential to be a fantastic room, of course, with its excessive shelving and overall space.

"This is ridiculous. They're all empty!" Antonio exclaimed, though he didn't sound frustrated. Instead he sounded, and looked, highly amused. There was no indication that they'd stolen this ship from anyone that seemed to care about it. Obviously, this guy just didn't like his job enough to invest that much pride in his living space. "We'll have to stop again sooner than I thought I suppose. Not even a piece of paper or an ink well! If only I had been able to save some stuff off of Esperanza."

There were no doubts in his mind that Antonio would fill it with the kind of warmth and homey-ness that every pirate captain's quarters should have. Lovino stepped slowly around the room, picking up the lady's hat and turning it around in his hands bemusedly before abandoning it on the globe once again. The mention of the Esperanza dampened his mood only mere increments compared to what it could have. They had a new ship now. They had a new beginning. And Antonio hadn't faltered when he'd mentioned it, so Lovino let it glaze over and crossed the room to hop up onto the top of the desk, Antonio watching his movements unnervingly closely with a crooked smile.

The desk didn't so much as creak or groan like its beat up appearance had led him to believe it would. He ran his fingers over the coarse wood, shifting his gaze between Antonio and the old piece of furniture he was misusing as a chair.

The lantern he had still be holding was set down on the desk beside them, and he swung his legs around so the back of his calves rested against the knobs of the drawers and Antonio and his sagging chair were just to the right of him. Sitting this way offered a much better view than the globe and the lady's hat that rested on the shelves behind the Captain's desk. A much more familiar, less depressingly barren view. Antonio was filling out. After nearly three weeks of being watched like a hawk (curse the man's inherent independence and stubbornness), fed real, Tortugan food instead of the mush Arthur had likely been chucking him, and allowed to sleep in a real bed under a real roof.

Thank God.

There had been a few times in the beginning when Lovino had made the mistake of looking too closely at the pale hollows in his cheeks and his wrists- and once, even a flash of his ribs beneath a ratty shirt. He had been sickly, and almost grotesquely skeletal. Now, there was a little more color in his skin. A little more meat on his bones, even if he was still a little too thin for Lovino's liking, and he still couldn't do much without exhausting himself and falling into a fit of painful sounding coughs.

Everything was finally going his way, again. He was a true captain of a real(stolen) ship and he hadn't died of scurvy or pneumonia or anything else. How could anything possibly go wrong at this point?

"What are you going to name her?" he asked. "The ship, I mean. This ship. It's yours now. It should be made official."

For a minute Lovino was scared that he had said something wrong. Antonio was silent for a long time, and he was no longer looking at him. Lovino had gotten so used to the emerald gaze when he was in the presence of his captain that he wasn't sure what to make of it. Lovino watched Antonio's expression change, melting dopey into pensive. He seemed to age in seconds. Eventually, Antonio did speak, startling Lovino out of his thoughts.

"Ojalá." His face was twisted in an almost comically thoughtful expression, and he looked directly at Lovino again with all the somber seriousness he never had. "Ojalá is perfect." He declared. "What do you think?"

Lamplight turned Antonio's curly hair almost black, his skin tawny. The unwavering flame shone in his eyes. Lovino felt something take hold of his heart suddenly and aggressively. _Ojalá._ A little thrill snuck up his spine. He figured it was because the cabin was a little drafty and not because of the rich, smooth-as-silk Spanish that had just graced his ears. Surely one word couldn't have that much influence. After a heavy, yet brief, silence, during which Lovino didn't take his eyes off of Antonio once, he licked his lips and swallowed dryly. "What does it mean?"

Antonio leaned forward in the chair, _his_ chair now, resting his elbows on the armrests that were padded in all the right places. The silences felt heavier than normal, but not tense or awkward. They were charged with anticipation, and something Lovino didn't really want to place. But it felt right, like nothing had for a while.

Just before he started talking, Antonio smiled. It was a rather small, tame kind of smile, meant for only himself and the other man in the room, a voice softened for the same purpose. "Ojalá. It's… hard to explain. I suppose it literally means 'God willing', but that's not it. It… it expresses a desire, a hopefulness for the future. It's like hope's older, wiser sibling." One of Antonio's hands drifted to rest on Lovino's upper thigh, closer to the knee, for reasons beyond either of them, and Lovino tensed. The Spaniard had always been more physically affectionate when he had alcohol in his system, and he'd been far touchier after his return. Francis said it was something about reassurance and safety. Lovino didn't listen. He was probably right anyway.

They were both staring into the other's eyes, looking for something that they couldn't be sure was there. "It fits, I think, because a ship will always represent hope. A hope to get away, to explore, to be free. But it's not the same anymore. We're not quite the wide-eyed group we used to be, you know." He chuckled, though he didn't find it particularly funny. "Everyone feels a little heavier, everyone's experienced a little more. Everyone here could have easily given up as the rest had, but they didn't. Everyone's still hopeful. All with a desire for revenge or old times, or what have you. It's not Esperanza anymore. Es Ojalá."

Lovino had never heard of anything more perfect.

 **Antonio- Summer 1675**

Antonio had never met anyone less willing to work in his entire life than his new charge.

Sure, he might have brought the newly orphaned boy onto his ship without any real permission, and, sure, he might have been the reason that he was orphaned in the first place, but he had expected at least a _little_ cooperation from the boy. When he actually did try to clean he'd manage to fail fantastically. Antonio had never been so glad that most of the furniture on the ship was bolted to the floor otherwise he was sure Lovino would have knocked it over at that point.

Antonio didn't think it was from a lack of trying that Lovino was so bad- he had seen Lovino when he didn't want to do something and that was far less insidious and far more explosive. It seemed more like he got frustrated and lost his temper and handled whatever he was doing far too roughly. Francis said the boy couldn't help it. He was in a new place, after all, with completely new people and no sense of security or real purpose. Everything he'd known had been uprooted. If he was lashing out, it was out of fear and insecurity, not a want to see the ship and whatever he was supposed to be cleaning in ruins.

Gilbert agreed and said he destroyed everything on the ship for the same reason. He was scared and insecure, so he ruined what he could. Gilbert, however, supported punishment, letting Lovino know there were consequences for his actions, whereas Francis swore to high heaven that it could all be solved with a little love and devotion.

The Captain wasn't so sure. He agreed with Gilbert on principle, but found himself following Francis' advice instead. Had he messed up in his father's presence, it would have led to a whipping. When he joined the pirates crew disobedience lead to bed without supper or a day of scrubbing until his hands bled. He had always promoted punishment, so why not now?

Every time Antonio looked out towards the deck where Lovino was lazily pushing a dry mop back and forth he knew why.

Lovino was young. Though he wasn't quite as young as Antonio was when he started sailing, nor a few others on the ship, something about him made him seem even younger than any of them had been. It could have been the chub in his cheeks that gave him a boyish face, or his slim, fragile build. It might have been his temper tantrums and his tendency to cry over trivial things. Whatever it was he wasn't sure, but it made something churn unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach every time he thought about it.

Lovino wasn't cut out for this kind of thing. He shouldn't be here. He should be back home in Napoli where they'd already sailed far from, with a family that was massacred over a trivial debt. Lovino was the good and innocent where Antonio had brought corruption. He was proof that there was hope. He was redemption. That's why he never punished him when he did something wrong; he didn't want Lovino to end up the same. You didn't hit a child when the fault was purely your own. You didn't whip an angel for offering man a second chance.

It must have been some paternal instinct that Antonio didn't know he had, but he wanted to do right by the little orphan. He wanted Lovino to be nurtured and supported unlike the captain in his own childhood.

Antonio approached Lovino with a renewed purpose. If he was going to stay, he might as well be doing something that was more worthwhile than creating more messes- and Antonio fully intended to keep him on the ship.

"Lovino," He called, his voice mellow but serious. All the boy did was swivel his head over to look at Antonio, rather than speeding up his swabbing like he had in the beginning. Really, after only a few weeks he had already learned how big of a push over the ruthless pirate captain was when it came to the little boy. "I need to speak with you about something. Can you follow me?"

Lovino stiffened. He went a little pale, like he was expecting it to be something terrible, but he followed wordlessly clutching the handle of the mop like a shield. The boy was adorable, really, but Antonio wished he could seem anything other than scared, bored, or irritated.

"I was thinking," Antonio started, swiveling around in his chair as he looked at the Italian standing awkwardly just inside the doorway of the captain's quarters. "You're not very good at cleaning, huh?"

"It's not my fault!" He cried, giving Antonio no time to continue before he tried to defend himself with a strangely indignant air. "It's not my fault cleaning's hard, and the stupid deck never stays dry, and it's not my fault the crate broke, it was rigged! But you can't make me leave the ship because I don't know where else to go!"

Antonio sat there for a moment, stunned, staring at Lovino's bright red face. He was taking great, heaving breaths, and Antonio for the life of him couldn't figure out where all of that had come from. Had he thought Antonio was going to kick him off of the ship for not being good enough? How utterly ridiculous.

"Lovino-"

"I know I'm not very good at it," He interrupted again, defending himself from a fate that had never even crossed the Captain's mind. "But I'll get better, I promise! I like it here and I don't have anything else to go back to. Please don't make me leave." He ended the great defense with a pitiful, resigned voice, like he'd realized it was all futile anyway, and it absolutely broke Antonio's heart. Did he seem particularly vengeful, or had Lovino been worrying about this from the beginning?

Then, a thought permeated through the shock that Lovino's yelling had caused. He said he liked it here. That was the first indication that Antonio had gotten that he wasn't only here because of force. Unless, of course, he was lying to try and keep his position on the ship. Either way, Antonio was still on the same track to make it all more enjoyable for him.

Antonio laughed. Great big boisterous belly laughs. Lovino's flustered face drained of all its color, but it wasn't until tears welled up in the little kid's eyes that Antonio tried to pull himself together, realizing that he probably thought he was being made fun of. "Now, Lovino, listen for a moment," He said, walking around the desk to kneel in front of Lovino much like the first time they'd met. His voice was gentle "Did you really think I was going to kick you off the ship?"

Lovino impressed Antonio then by managing to look sheepish and angry at the same time. Antonio didn't think that it was a possibility. But then Lovino had proven a lot of things Antonio thought wrong in the few weeks he'd been here. Lovino mumbled something, but Antonio couldn't understand all of it. From what he gathered it seemed like some of the other pirates had threatened him to try and get him to work harder.

"I wasn't going to do anything of the sort." Antonio soothed, beaming up at Lovino. "I was actually going to offer you a new position. I think you'll like it. Do you want to know what it is?"

In response Lovino nodded, reluctantly. Antonio didn't miss the curiosity in his eyes, though the young boy still looked incredibly on guard.

"Cabin boy!" Antonio proclaimed, excitedly, making the smaller boy jump from the suddenness of it. "That means that instead of cleaning you'll be like my personal assistant, and you'll help the cook prepare meals. Doesn't that sound exciting?"

Lovino made a weird face like he couldn't decide if he wanted to look excited or pained. "Your personal assistant?" He said his tone as muddled between the two expressions as his face.

Antonio chuckled again, standing up again and heading back to his desk. Lovino followed hesitantly behind. "It's actually really interesting! It's how I started out as a pirate, you know. Maybe, after a few years, you could be a _capitan_ too!"

Now Lovino looked really interested, and he leaned on Antonio's desk after the captain got settled in his chair. "I guess it doesn't sound too bad." He agreed, and Antonio's smile grew tenfold.

 **Lovino- August 1681**

The atmosphere in the room felt taboo and intimate. The light was dim because their only source of light was a nearly burnt out lantern, and the autumn night left the air feeling warm and sated. The rocking of the ship was mellow and tamer than the crew was used to. The Caribbean really wasn't their domain, which was most likely why Arthur had chosen to leave him here.

But Lovino was willing to go all the way to Asia if it meant saving the man who was everything to him.

It was funny. First he had feared Antonio for all of the awful stories the shipmates told him. _El Hacha_ ain't a dread pirate captain for nothin' after all. And Lovino had seen it for himself just how easily the dopey smile could turn into something as sharp and dangerous as the axe he was named for.

That was something Antonio had that Kirkland didn't, at least. A stupid code name.

There was a long reigning silence between the two of them, but it didn't feel awkward. If anything it felt charged with anticipation and Lovino was a live wire just waiting for something to make him spark.

"What did you do on the ship while I was gone?" Antonio asked with a voice as steady and low as the seas they were sailing on. "Surely you weren't a cabin boy for Francis."

Lovino scoffed though the noise sounded far more breathy than irritated. "Francis wasn't a real captain." Lovino scooted barely, minutely closer. "But I didn't really _do_ anything. I helped where I was needed, I guess. When someone left I would pick up the slack."

The Spaniard settled himself in his chair a little more and hummed. "Well that's no good at all."

Lovino balked, always defensive, and had been about ready to bite out some scathing retort about how he was _present_ at the very least.

But then Antonio continued, and his voice held no malice. If anything it was like a sweet caress that interested the hairs on the back of Lovino's neck. "You deserve a real title. Something more respectable than cabin boy, don't you think?"

Lovino merely nodded, dumbly.

"I have just the thing in mind, you'll love it. It's in your blood, after all."

"Well," Lovino demanded when Antonio trailed off. "Are you going to tell me or what?"

Antonio smiled, and Lovino felt his breath catch for reasons he'd rather not consider. Even when he looked so sickly that smile was like the sun. "Navigator." He said, with a definite nod of his head. "The same position your father held. Quite possibly the most important person on the ship. Where would a captain and his crew be if they merely sailed aimlessly?"

The Italian's voice was hesitant, and shaking with something like excitement. "You really think I can do it? The last one we had was shit."

Antonio laughed, and it made the corners of the Italian's lip quirk up to see him look so happy. "Well, querido, you are definitely _not_ shit. I believe you have all of the right makings. You are intelligent, and passionate. You say what you mean. I would be unfair to try and keep you as a simple cabin boy. You are far too mature for that now."

 _You say what you mean._ Oh, if only he knew what Lovino meant right now that he was definitely not going to say. Had Antonio not lived with him for the greater part of six years? Lovino hid behind his words, insecurities tied up nicely to hide behind the vulgarities like a cannon that was all gunpowder and no ammo. But when this was brought up to Antonio the captain looked at him with something startlingly like pity.

"Oh, I do not think you realize how much your eyes truly say. You mean what you say, though, perhaps, not in the way you are thinking." Antonio reached over the short distance and tilted Lovino's head closer by placing the palm of his hand on the Italian's rouge cheek. "When you are scared or nervous you lash out, I know, and you _say_ things you don't _mean._ But you still _mean_ what you _say_. That response for you is the same for someone else saying what may be troubling them. You are a dreadfully honest person. It's a shame you can't see that."

A cold fist tightened around his heart and squeezed. It was a hopelessly romantic thing to say. Lovino was feeling hopelessly romantic, but when he opened his mouth something entirely different from what he'd been planning to say came out.

"Then what do I mean right now when I say you're full of shit."

Lovino cringed, then, fully wishing he hadn't opened his big mouth and ruined the mood that had settled in the room. He was surprised when Antonio's laugh was breathy and low and proved that he hadn't. "You are embarrassed so you try to deny it. Albeit it's fierce, a bit vulgar; not the simpering kind of denial of barmaids or maidens, but Lovino, you are certainly not a woman.

"I know that!" Lovino defended though he wasn't entirely sure why he was so quick to do so. Maybe it was because it reminded him that he shouldn't be here doing this. That the giddy feeling in the pit of his stomach from Antonio's hand on his thigh- which still hadn't moved!- was wrong and would condemn them both. Did Antonio even know what he was doing? Probably not, the oblivious idiot.

"Forgive me, querido, I did not mean it like that. I am well aware, believe me. It does make… certain things a bit more difficult, however." Antonio's face fell, his eyebrows pinching in a hopeless kind of thought and Lovino tried not to let his imagination run off and make him hope for something impossible.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the seawater swell of emotion from bubbling up. "Certain things?" Lovino asked simply, his eyes briefly flicking to Antonio's lips. He was completely forgetting his place and he was hoping for something that wasn't ever going to happen.

But then, what was that look on Antonio's face? It almost seemed… suggestive.

"Tell me, Lovino," Antonio practically _purred_ and, God, when did he get so close? "Have you ever seen me with a woman?"

Had he? He couldn't remember. His brain was too fuzzy to think very hard about it but he distinctly remembered one of the rules of the land be to leave the women and children alone. It had been the cause of many scuffles- that Antonio always won- with words thrown around that he didn't understand and didn't ask about. Some said Antonio was a Eunuch, and others said he was… no, Lovino had discarded all of those stupid rumors ages ago. They weren't true. The men were just bitter, and Antonio was a good man who didn't see the appeal in taken women by force. Right?

Lovino's brows had pinched drastically, and his eyes felt wide and unblinking when he finally shook his head hesitantly.

"And do you not think there is a reason for that? You've heard the rumors, I'm sure."

"But they were just rumors!" Lovino blurted, he felt frantic and scattered. Was this really happening? Where was Antonio going with his?

"But you know as well as I that some rumors ring true. You have never seen me with a woman, Lovino, because I am not attracted to them." Antonio was candid from his expression to his tone. The hand on his thigh started to move in little circles. Lovino felt dizzy.

"But that- that's wrong!" Lovino didn't know if Antonio's expression was more disappointed or expectant. The flat line of his frown suggested that he had been expecting this- it was the same expression Antonio often made when Lovino threw a tantrum about them being out of tomatoes. Antonio commiserated. He understood, and he was disappointed, and Lovino was so confused. "My dad- the church says! … That it's wrong…"

As Lovino trailed off Antonio's eyes gave a curious little sparkle. "Is it?" He asked, simply.

"Yes!" Lovino cried, as his brows climbed up his head in a fevered pitch "Yes, it is, damn it!"

Antonio nodded and hummed, as if the answer was something curious to contemplate rather than something that the law, the _Bible_ told them was wrong. He looked too calm. Lovino's hands were clammy, and he was breathing so heavily he could see some curly strands blow in the panicky breeze. Why was he so panicked again? Was it because he was afraid for Antonio or for himself?

"Now, 'Vino, is that really what you believe or is it what you were taught to think?" Lovino didn't need this lecture. They were taught it was wrong because it was. Right? How else would they know wrong from right if they didn't teach it to children. That was how it worked.

"Ay, please quit making that face, querido, there is no need to get so worked up about it. Let me rephrase." Antonio stood up, and Lovino stiffened. "When you are around me, does it feel wrong?"

Lovino shook his head hesitantly and Antonio stepped closer, trapping him against the desk and wrapping weakened arms around his waist. His face was _so close_.

"And this?" He asked, leaning towards his ear. His voice was a whisper Lovino felt just as much as he heard. "Does this feel wrong?"

It should feel wrong. Lovino knew it should. This man was his father figure, his best friend. He was five years older—and he was a _man_.

But it didn't feel wrong. It felt odd, different, and new. It was exciting, and Antonio's breath on his neck made goosebumps travel down his arms. It brought out every feeling he'd tried so hard to squander in the late nights when his mind would wonder and his teenage hormones would get the best of him. The dynamic had changed since Antonio got back. Lovino just didn't think it had changed this much.

"No," He choked out, his voice high and tight. Antonio placed a kiss just underneath Lovino's ear, and he felt the smile.

"Good." He said, his voice lower than it was last time. It sent shivers down Lovino's spine. But it was nothing compared to the feeling of Antonio's lips on his.

 **Antonio- August 1681**

The colors always played off one another so nicely. It was a cohesive blend of shades that didn't seem conducive to one another. Purple bumped right up against red that lit up with streaks of iridescent gold. The silver moon still shared the space, but it stayed and quietly faded into the background as the deep cyan of the Mediterranean reflected all of the colors of the sunrise in a magnificent glow. Antonio's favorite point was when the sun was high enough that all the other colors were drowned by the gold that turned the water into molten treasure and the sky into fire. It had been so long since Antonio had been in the position to see such a sight.

Rather than doing captain things, as he probably should have been, Antonio was leaning against the side of the ship and admiring the sunrise. The crew had lasted four months at sea without him, surely they could handle another morning. Antonio was enjoying just taking in the atmosphere, the people around the ship that were working the early morning were yelling back and forth at one another, cranky and hungover. Lovino and Gilbert were yelling at each other somewhere off to his left. If he listened even harder he could hear Francis lamenting about something or another from half way across the ship. It was so familiar it hurt. Almost like nothing changed.

Oh, but it had.

Francis gave the command to hoist the anchor- a command only ever given by the captain- and he didn't seem to realize his mistake until it was already out of the water. Antonio merely smiled over at him and waved it off, but he couldn't help the bad taste in his mouth that it left remembering that things had changed. Or maybe it was morning breath?

Lovino stomped over to him all of a sudden, waving his arms around emphatically and informing Antonio of just how big of a 'dumbass potato fuck muncher' Gilbert was. Lovino leaned against the railing, much like Antonio had been earlier, but he was staring at the sunrise more like he wanted to beat it up rather than admire it.

"And what did he do this time to deserve such a title, querido?" Antonio asked, much more interested in hearing Lovino talk about it than knowing what actually happened.

"He wouldn't let me see the map!" Lovino threw his hands up into the air and his shoulders fell in a helpless slump. "How am I supposed to be the navigator if I don't even know where we are? You told him I was going to learn, right?"

Antonio nodded in response, his head tilted to the side so he could look at Lovino. The way the sunrise was reflected off of his eyes made them look sweet and warm like honey, and Antonio didn't think he'd ever seen them look quite so tame. In the time Antonio had spent getting smaller and weaker Lovino had filled out. He looked good. _Really_ good. Grown up in every meaning of the word. The butterflies in his stomach went nuts when he thought about how he was allowed to think those kinds of things now.

"Then I don't know what his problem is." The Italian would never cease to be adorable when he pouted. "He said that I wasn't trained enough or some bullshit like that, but it wasn't like I wanted to start directing the ship! I just wanted to see the map- I wanted to see if I could figure out where we were."

"Ay, I see why you're frustrated, but Gilbert is probably running himself ragged trying to do two men's jobs. Not to mention he has to be remarkably hungover and the sun's barely over the horizon." The captain sighed and looked back to see that he had, indeed, missed the best part of the sunrise. He was too busy staring at the luminous gold of Lovino's eyes to catch the gold in the sky. "You can't blame him if he's not quite thinking straight. I'll talk to him later."

Lovino scoffed but his expression, much to Antonio's confusion, was far from irritated. "Can too. He's an idiot. It's not like the map is his personal property. And he's not the only one hungover…" He trailed off, something flickering in his eyes that Antonio couldn't place. "Speaking of which, how are you feeling after last night?"

"How do you mean?" Was he asking emotionally, physically, or medically? "I've got a bit of a hangover, but I didn't drink near as much as I could have given that we were a bit… distracted." Antonio raised his brows in a suggestive expression towards Lovino who turned a healthy shade of red and smacked Antonio on the arm.

"Oh, quit acting like you got lucky last night. We hardly did anything." Lovino mumbled, looking away from his captain.

"We may not have done much, but it meant quite a lot. Doesn't it make you feel… what's the word? _Dichoso._ Blissful." Antonio sighed in an almost love sick way, simpering under the flustered gaze of his _amor_.

"God, don't- do you- we can't discuss this here!" Lovino's voice was a low hiss, and his eyes darted all around the deck like he was afraid of getting caught. "You realize we're two men, right? And that it's illegal."

Antonio looked at Lovino like he was speaking Russian. He chose his next words carefully. "So is piracy and smuggling, Vino, and that's our livelihood. What's your point? I thought we went over this already."

"That… I don't know! That maybe the other people on the crew won't take it so well and we've already lost enough men-" Antonio cut him off by placing a finger on his lips, and Lovino looked at him wide-eyed.

"If they are going to hate me for loving you then I would rather they leave. I won't keep our love a secret, but, if you wish, I won't go parading it around either. If they find out, they find out, and we can deal with it when the time comes." Though he already knew that most of the people on his ship didn't have a problem with it, he didn't think it would help any to tell Lovino they already knew.

Lovino looked away from Antonio, forcibly pulling himself away and turning back towards the ocean out of what Antonio figured was embarrassment, so Antonio moved to do the same. He was silent for a long time, and when Antonio peeked over at him it looked like he was a thousand miles away. Antonio was just about to leave so Francis could stop taking his job when Lovino cleared his throat.

"You're such a sap. And that sounds so sweet when you say it, but, really Antonio, where do you think we are? It doesn't work like that."

"Hmm," Antonio hummed, turning so he could lean against the side of the ship and still look at Lovino. "I think we are on a ship that we stole well into the Caribbean and on our way to the Atlantic. We are not in any country, and as much as the monarchy would like to disagree nobody really owns the seas. If you do not believe it is wrong, why would it matter what other people may believe? Let them mind their own business and we'll mind ours."

But Antonio feared that maybe Lovino did believe it was wrong, even after everything. He had been so into it last night Antonio was sure Lovino wanted it, but he was also just as sure of the boy's self-deprecating tendencies.

Lovino squirmed where he was and made hesitant eye contact with Antonio. "You always have to be a fucking poet." Antonio opened his mouth but was stopped by Lovino's hands against his chest shoving him towards Francis. "Whatever, just go do your job. I didn't make sure you got better so you could stand around all day and be useless."

Antonio laughed, and did as he was told, taking Francis' place and asking for a chair to be brought over for him. Though he was better than he was three weeks ago, such serious illnesses didn't vanish so easily, and he had lost a lot of muscle mass. But it was easy enough to give orders from a chair. Especially when everyone on the ship was willing to run up to him every hour or so and tell him exactly what was going on elsewhere.

He felt a little wimpy sitting down while the rest of his crew ran around. Normally he would have been stalking all across the ship to make sure everything was up to his standards. Though he may have regained the title, he still didn't _feel_ like a pirate captain when he was lazing around in a chair. He wished he had a hat. With the right hat, he could look like a _capitan_ no matter what he was doing.

Later in the day, when the ship was sailing smoothly and there were just enough clouds overhead to shade them the majority of the time, Lovino had appeared back at Antonio's side, holding the map of the Mediterranean tight in his fist and giving him some excuse about Gilbert, their stand in navigator, being too much of an ass.

Antonio was patient and Lovino was a quick learner and before the sun had started going down Lovino had the basics of how to estimate a time of arrival using the map, a protractor, and the weather. He had been lively all throughout the lesson, listening more avidly than Antonio could ever remember and sounding genuinely interested in what he was learning. The way Lovino would smile when he understood absolutely made Antonio's day.

He started rewarding Lovino with little kisses anytime he figuring something out or got an answer right or generally did anything Antonio wanted to kiss him for, much to the Italian's embarrassment. But no matter how red the navigator-in-training would get, he still kissed back.

It was a good day.

 **Lovino- Winter 1675**

Lovino was more terrified now than he could ever remember being. More than the hours he spent crammed into his pantry. More than that one time the stupid neighbors' dog chased him halfway across town. He could feel the floorboards rattling underneath him, which Lovino thought was really interesting considering the entire powder magazine was on the floor above him.

Did that mean the ship was getting hit by the other's cannonballs? Were they going to sink? Lovino had barely been here three months and now he was going to die. He had to wonder why, if he was going to die so young, he didn't go with the rest of his family. Was it because his life had been so pitiful and boring fate thought he needed a chance to add at least a little excitement to his repertoire?

Even down here, four levels below deck, so low in the ship the wood beneath him was damp, he could hear the commotion going on above his head. He could hear yelling, though never with enough clarity to make out what they were saying, and he could hear battle cries, and angry yells. Why was it so loud? If it was this loud on the bottom of his ship did that mean they were losing? Were the other pirates going to take everything of value and sink the ship? Was Antonio okay?

He had no idea why he was worried for that bastard of a pirate captain. It was his fault he was in this position, huddled in the storage space of the ship, freezing and hiding behind a large crate as if it could save his life.

Lovino could admit that the Spaniard made him feel safe, regrettably. He felt like a father. But the stupid, compassionate man Lovino had gotten to know these past weeks as cabin boy was nothing like the man who had turned to him and ordered Lovino to hide. Within a couple seconds he had gotten scary, and cold. He became a pirate captain. Maybe that's what he was always like, and the other was just a persona to make Lovino feel more welcome. That made sense, and it suddenly made the ship seem far less comfortable as it had become.

Lovino heard a door open, distantly, and he couldn't tell if it was coming from the storage room door or not. He sincerely hoped not.

Water started leaking into the room he was staying in, which meant that the other ship had definitely gotten a hit in since the floor he was in wasn't under sea level. The crate he was leaning against was almost directly in the center of the room, which felt safer considering he couldn't tell which side the other ship was on and where cannonballs might blast through.

There was so much yelling above deck, Lovino was sure some people just had to be yelling for the heck of it. It seemed like the sort of thing pirates did. It didn't mean they were losing. Did it?

Lovino wasn't sure how long he stayed down there listening to the commotion of the battle and the rumbling creaking of the ship before it started to die down. The volume reached the quietest it had been the entire time, and shortly a cheer followed. Lovino really wished that the pirates would have more recognizable voices so he could tell who won.

The longer Lovino had to sit down there after the cheer the longer he was convinced that they had lost and the crewmen of whatever ship they were fighting were scavenging the place to take whatever was of use.

Distantly he heard someone call something about a storage room, and his blood ran cold.

It sounded as if the boots of the men were echoing in Lovino's ears as he scrambled up from his position. His back and legs had gone stiff from staying there so long, but the amount of adrenaline in his system was enough to propel him forward and tear the lid off of the large box he was kneeling in front of and climb inside. He was just able to push the lid back onto the crate by the time he heard the door open.

He was just a breath or so away from whimpering. If he weren't already breathing so heavily, and trying to hard to stifle it he was sure he would have, as embarrassing as it was. He'd heard horror stories about pirates and what they would do to women and young children. He'd heard stories from people in town long before he heard the deeds happening himself. He'd thought he was safe with Antonio, as his name was legend. Apparently he'd been wrong. The boots approached the crate and passed it without giving pause. Lovino heard him make his rounds through the room. He even heard him take the lid off of a few other crates and curse as if the things he saw didn't please him.

With rushed footsteps the man left, calling something out that Lovino didn't listen to.

It was only then he realized he was sitting on a crate full of miscellaneous jeweled things Lovino remembered them picking up at the last port they were at. It was uncomfortable the way a gilded goblet was pressing into his lower back, but he didn't dare move. Not when he could still hear rustling outside the door and in all the surrounding rooms.

Then Lovino heard something that he thought for sure was a hallucination. The golden voice- the one that Lovino remembered from the day his family was slaughtered- was calling out, yelling again much like he had when they had first been acquainted. Did many pirates have that voice? Lovino had never met any other than the ones on this ship. He supposed it was possible. He felt like he was going to throw up.

They were talking about wine, he thought. Why would someone be yelling about wine?

The door to the storage room was thrown open then, and it made Lovino jump so badly he hit his head and cut his finger. This time he really did have to worry about stifling whimpers as he heard heavy boots practically tearing the storage room apart. Whoever it was was beyond angry. They must have really wanted that wine.

"Damn it!" The voice called. It was rough and deep and familiar. It almost sounded like- "Lovino! Lovino are you in here?"

"Antonio?" He asked, quietly. He was ashamed of how pitiful he sounded.

"Ay, gracias a Dios!" The voice called. It was smoother now, and Lovino didn't have any trouble believing it was really Antonio. "Lovino, where are you? Please come out."

Slowly Lovino peeked his head out of the crate, just barely making out the vague shape of his captain standing a few feet away. He looked roughed up, and he was leaning heavily on one of his legs, but he was there, and he was okay, and Lovino didn't even stop to try and consider why it mattered to him anymore. Antonio was safety and care and Lovino had never been more excited to see one man in his entire life.

The pre-teen cleared the sides of the crate and launched himself at Antonio. The older man was just barely able to catch him without them both tumbling over. Lovino was badly shaking, and his eyes hurt from the tears that he would never admit he cried in his terror. He didn't even feel that he needed to hide them when Antonio just embraced him and told him it was all okay now.

"I thought you died!" He yelled unabashedly, hitting him on one side of the chest while his face was buried in the other. There were still tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, and it suddenly got a lot harder to breath steadily. Three months and this man had already managed to wiggle his way closer to his heart than most of his own family had been. Neither said anything more.

They stayed there for a while, Lovino taking comfort in the strong arms wrapped around him and holding him close. All the times Lovino had cried and hoped for comfort this was always what he'd wanted, and never what he'd gotten. His mama and his brother would hug him, but their embrace was like a comforting blanket, whereas Antonio's was like an infallible fortress. It wasn't until Gilbert came in telling them the captain's presence was needed in the dining hall before Lovino broke away, embarrassed and glowing red.

Still, Lovino allowed the captain to hold his hand until they reached the deck and Lovino saw all the other people still cleaning up the mess. Lovino pretended not to see one of the crew members throw a body overboard, and he wondered if they'd make him swab the deck again just to help out.

"We won, Lovi!" Antonio cheered in what was likely an effort to raise the mood a bit. "The worst that happened was Arturo got a very nasty scrape across his face, but I actually think he's pretty excited about an eye patch, isn't that funny?"

Lovino merely nodded and followed Antonio. He was recounting the tale of their brave victory, glossing over his own injuries like he didn't even realize he had them.

For the first time Lovino was genuinely happy that Antonio had picked him up and taken him to his ship. He found more of a father in Antonio than he'd found in his own, he mused, as they walked to the dining room side by side.

 **Antonio- October 1681**

Antonio had been sure that he'd never been closer to hell than he was at the bottom of Kirkland's ship. In the middle of battle, when many people liked to say they were in hell, it was chaotic but there was purpose. There was an instinctual need to survive that didn't allow for one to wallow. The bottom of the ship was nothing like that. Days floated together to the point that he was never particularly sure if he were awake or dreaming in the later months. He was disconnected from everything. There weren't frequent escape plans. There weren't any, in fact, because the first time he'd tried to rush the person opening the hatch he'd broken a few ribs and gotten a concussion and hadn't been fed for two days.

When all of this was recounted to Francis one night over far too many bottles of rum, the Frenchman had cried and hugged him for so long that the intoxicated and physically affectionate Spaniard got a little uncomfortable.

Because of that, Antonio just couldn't understand why, then, Francis was the one ordering him to go down below deck to hide. He hadn't ever hidden below deck when things got rough. That was for young, inexperienced cabin boys and the lily livered cowards. Not for the captain.

"But you can hardly stand up for half an hour, Antonio, I won't allow you to hurt yourself any more than you already have." Francis argued, trying to subtly gesture over his shoulder for some of the burly members to help him escort Antonio below deck. Antonio stopped them with a look of green fire and a jerky wave of his hand. 

"That's not your decision to make, Francis." He yelled, grabbing a hold of the mast next to him when his head pounded. "You aren't the captain any longer."

Francis gave him a look that bordered on pity, and it made Antonio's blood boil. He would absolutely not let himself be useless again. He would not sit beneath the deck while his crew fought for his ship. Why couldn't he just understand that?

"Antonio, just listen to him or you and your dumb ass are going to be in worse shape than you were on Tortuga." The captain whipped around to see his newly introduced navigator with his arms crossed and his stance the type that practically dared Antonio to disagree with him.

Lucky for him Antonio had never been the type to turn down a challenge.

"It is like you two don't realize who you're talking to. I am the _captain_ , that means _I_ make the decisions." His accent had gotten thicker so his words were embarrassingly slurred in a lisp. He hated his accent. And the more upset he got, the thicker it was.

Lovino balked, scoffed, and gave Antonio a look that made him cringe. "Antonio, how-fucking-dare you. You were still the captain even when you weren't here and you _know that._ " Lovino approached him and reached out and took Antonio's face into his hands roughly. His golden eyes were stern, but it wasn't the mock authority that made Antonio listen. It was the tilt of his brows and the trembling of his chin that told Antonio just how terrified he was. _"_ If you try to fight right now, you're toast. It's hardly been a month since you got off of Kirkland's ship. Will you _please_ just listen to us and take care of yourself for once?"

They had stared at each other for a while before Antonio scoffed, and turned on his heel to go down to the storage hold. He punched one of his crew members in the gut when they tried to help him down the ladder past the powder.

Antonio spent the rest of the night in the very bottom of the boat, listening to the commotion up ahead, freezing, and wishing he could do something more to help. They ended up winning an overwhelming victory, and Antonio had a cold for the next week.

He moped around the next day and spitefully let Francis do his job again while he nursed his head. When Lovino came in with lunch Antonio spoke minimally.

A few hours later Lovino had finally shattered his helpful boyfriend façade and barked at him for pouting. When Antonio finally admitted that he was more upset that they hadn't needed him than the fact that he wasn't used, Lovino had called him stupid and hadn't left for the rest of the day.

The next confrontation two months later Antonio was back on deck fighting a pitiful little pirate crew and cracking jokes with Lovino and Francis the entire time.

 **Lovino- Spring 1681**

Somehow Lovino had ended up in Antonio's lap.

It had been on accident. Mostly.

Lovino had tripped, and Antonio had tried to steady him, and here they were.

The light from the candles burned low and cast the room into warm shadows. They were far into the Atlantic at this point, heading back to Spain after a successful two-year trip to the Caribbean, so the mild storm that was brewing made the ship rock something awful as it floated along the top of a deep, deep ocean.

It was Lovino's eighteenth birthday in a couple of days, and Antonio had promised a big celebration at a port that Lovino didn't get to know the name of. It was supposed to be some grand event planned entirely in his honor.

Lovino was definitely grateful. Unbelievably grateful and flattered and excited. Maybe that's why he didn't mind so much that Antonio's hands were resting on his hips while Lovino straddled his captain. Both of them were still, frozen in some kind of limbo where this sort of thing was acceptable. The light above them was swinging back and forth in a wide gentle arc like the rest of the mobile objects in the room. It sent dancing shadows across the strong contours of Antonio's face.

It was all very confusing. Normally Lovino would have quickly left with some threat of bodily harm. Now, however, leaving was the last thing on his mind. In fact, the only thing on his mind at all was Antonio.

He wasn't sure, but it seemed like they were both leaning in, and Lovino thought that should have worried him more than it did. He kind of wanted to throw himself backwards and hope that his head hit the corner of the desk hard enough to kill him just as much as he kind of wanted to close the rest of the gap.

Antonio's breath was fanning across his face now, and it made something like lightning shoot down Lovino's spine. "Antonio…?" He whispered.

Later he'd wonder if that's where he went wrong because as soon as he said his name, as soon as he'd made a sound, the mist in Antonio's eyes cleared and he all but shoved Lovino back to his feet.

Lovino questioned him in a much more gentle manner than was typical of him, but he got no response. He didn't need it, really. The expression on Antonio's face said everything he didn't want to hear. His mouth was pinched in a concave line, and though his eyebrows were furrowed their height suggested desperation over seriousness, which scared the crap out of Lovino.

The expression on Antonio's face was fit for a man who'd murdered- which Antonio had done- or burnt down an entire town- which he had also done. Not for a vicious captain who had just nearly kissed his cabin boy.

But by the time Lovino had thought up a response fit for the moment, Antonio's emotions clubhauled, and he got mad instead. Real, scary, pirate captain, shit-your-pants mad. However, just as Antonio opened his mouth Gilbert came rushing through the door. The map was clutched in his hand so tightly it seemed that it would almost rip in half, and his normally pale face was flushed with something more than drink.

"The jolly roger. It's flying over the ship maybe four knots away." Gilbert said, his eyes bright and burning like hot coals.

Antonio was quick to move out from behind the desk- to put distance and a physical barrier between the two of them. Lovino tried not to take it personally, how relieved he sounded. It didn't work. "Do we know the ship?" The captain asked, grabbing a hold of his hat from the hook and placing it securely on his head.

"We don't know the ship, but we know the captain. You've heard those rumors about Kirkland returning to the seas, have you?"

"No! You're not saying it's Kirkland we're up against. I haven't seen that lad in years!" They both sounded excited of all things and Lovino felt like he was missing something. He couldn't, however, work up the courage to say anything about it.

"It's true, I saw him myself. He's found himself a real big ship this time. He may actually be something of a challenge for us." The two of them turned and started leaving, discussing old people and battle strategies that Lovino had no clue about and no business asking.

"I doubt it. That ship there? We've overtaken dinghies with more power than that." Antonio was over-confident. It was his trademark as a captain, and certainly not an act. He was good and everyone knew it. He didn't mind flaunting it. It raised morale, and sometimes even scared the other people off. But when Lovino peeked around to get a look at the ship they were up against, Lovino didn't think Antonio had anything to brag about. The ship itself was huge, and cutting through the water at an impressive speed for a boat of that size.

The size, however, wasn't much of Lovino's concern. He was more worried about the cannons that lined the sides like cheap decorations. Two dozen square holes on the visible side at least, and a cannon to fire through each of them.

For once Lovino really wouldn't mind sitting one out. He gladly hauled himself back up to sit on the desk from where he was still frozen to the ground after Antonio manhandled him. The wood creaked under his weight, and the boat creaked as well when the first cannonball was shot. They were still at least two knots away, should the cannons have been able to shoot so far? His thoughts felt muddled.

 _La Esperanza_ took a sharp turn then, clubhauling around. The lantern nearly fell off of its hook, and Lovino had to clutch onto the side of the desk. They were trying not to start the battle with their newly vulnerable side open. Lovino could hear yelling- it was all in a rhythm at this point- but none of it shot adrenaline through his veins anymore. It was all rather repetitive at this point. Everything on the ship was.

Except what had happened earlier. That was new. That was weird. That was… nice. Up until he had been shoved away at least. What did it all mean? Lovino had been in close quarters with Antonio for years and there had never been any kind of sexual tension like there had been earlier. They'd shared a bed most of the time! Lovino crossed his arms and huffed, making a show of pouting even if no one was there to see it.

Lovino heard the grapnels sail to the other ship, and the creak of the ropes when they swung across cut through all the low yelling and cursing. If the others were already boarding the other ship then there really wasn't much of a fight going on. Lovino hadn't even heard any more cannon fire. Maybe Antonio really did know what he was talking about.

At least, that had been what Lovino thought. It was a couple of minutes later that the deafening sound of all the cannons on the port side of the other ship firing at once made Lovino clutch his hands to his ears, and the resulting quake of the ship beneath him made Lovino fall over from in front of the bookcase he'd been browsing.

From that moment on adrenaline and a heap of other chemicals that kept him alive made it hard to remember anything. He could remember the grating, chilling sound of a ship collapsing in on itself as more cannonballs were shot through the hefty tusk of _La Esperanza_. He remembered fleeing from the captain's room and finding Francis as he rushed about looking for him and almost getting crushed under a mast. He remembered jumping as far as he could into the water when the ship began to capsize.

But out of everything he doesn't remember, and the vague parts that he does, only one image in really clear. As he was hauled up onto the enemy's ship by someone who indistinguishable as friend or foe he saw Antonio, the strongest man he knew, on his knees beneath the man he would come to know and loath as Captain Kirkland.

And after two unfathomably British looking men hauled him up and lead him away, Antonio would not look at them. Not when he passed right in front of them. He didn't look forward. He didn't look back.

It would be months before they saw him again.

Weeks before they were told he was dead.

A day before Lovino realized exactly what that man meant to him.

And only a few hours before Lovino realized the failure was his fault.

He wept.

 **Antonio- June 1682**

Somehow all of the things on Antonio's desk had ended up on the floor.

Actually, he was very aware of _how_ that happened. In fact, he could very clearly remember Lovino shoving it all off on the floor before hiking himself up to lean back on the desk in the most delicious way.

His legs had spread easily to make room for Antonio when he crawled on top of the desk after him, and no matter how many times they did this, and no matter how open Lovino got, it always gave Antonio a little thrill that had a way of making his heart swell in time with an entirely different, slightly lower area.

His lips were connected with the soft skin on Lovino's neck, sucking deep purple hickeys into it and paying rapt attention to the way Lovino would breathlessly whisper his name. Both of them were panting, and glistening with sweat in the lamplight. They were most likely going to miss supper later, and Francis had promised that it would be one of his specials-

Lovino's hands, which had been roaming the muscles of Antonio's shoulders, reached up and knocked the hat off of Antonio's head and tangled his fingers in the mess of ringlets and curls.

"Such a big fucking feather." Lovino said breathlessly, and it took Antonio a moment to realize Lovino was talking about the captain's hat he had bought him for his birthday, and that the mess of feathers on the left side had probably been right in Lovino's face.

Antonio didn't get a chance to respond before he tugged at Antonio's hair until he complied and moved to connect their mouths again. Lovino wasted no time being chaste, as he often did when they kissed. Tongues were touching instantly. One leg was thrown up to wrap around Antonio's waist, making it that much easier for Lovino to prompt Antonio to grind against him.

When Lovino abandoned his mouth to throw his head back and moan breathlessly, deliciously, Antonio decided he didn't mind any of it. As long as he had Lovino, his body, and his voice, and those golden eyes there was nothing in the world that could matter more.

Lovino made a low sound in the back of his throat. Something akin to a growl and plea for more. Antonio had learned that sound intimately. It meant Lovino was getting impatient, desperate for something more than lingering kisses and contact through clothing.

And who was Antonio to argue? He was impatient as well.

Antonio slid off of the desk and off of Lovino to shove his pants down his thighs as quickly as he possibly could. He almost tripped when he tried to shake them off of his ankles and failed, much to Lovino's amusement

When Antonio looked up to try and flash him a proud smirk once he'd finally rid himself of his pants, he nearly had the breath knocked out of him. Lovino was sitting up on the desk, supported by his elbows. He wasn't even devoid of any clothing, but the limited light in the room reflecting off of him in contrast to the dark of the wooden desk made him look angelic. His chest was moving up and down rapidly, though he wasn't panting like he had been moments prior. His eyes were large and warm, and filled with an emotion that made Antonio's heart ache in the very best way. His smile, however, tranquil and fond, stopped Antonio in his tracks.

He must have looked rather goofy, still partially hunched over and staring at Lovino as if he were the most precious jewel on the Seven Seas.

In a way, he was.

Lovino's smile grew into more a grin, though it didn't lose the softness, and he beckoned Antonio back up to him by taking off his shirt and leaning back again in a very clear invitation.

Antonio only hesitated to yank his own baggy shirt off.

He heard Lovino inhale sharply, and he smirked, walking over to the desk like a cat stalking its prey. He stood at the edge of the desk and grabbed Lovino by his belt loops, yanking him forwards until their crotches touched one another, and they both groaned.

It was very clear that they were both very aroused at this point- and who wouldn't be with someone as gorgeous as Lovino all spread out for him. Lovino was quick to bring their mouths back together, groaning as he rocked his hips into Antonio.

The pirate captain trailed his hands down Lovino's back, rubbing in a sort of pseudo-massage before they reached their intended goal of Lovino's ass. He gave each cheek a good squeeze, making Lovino gasp and break their kiss, and Antonio quickly took the opportunity to attach his lips to the damp skin of Lovino's neck.

Antonio absolutely loved these moments. The swooping, light headed feeling he got every time he was tangled up with Lovino was addicting, and thrilling. More so, even, than the heat of battle. He wanted nothing more than to kiss every inch of that beautiful, olive skin, and show Lovino just how much he loved him through words and actions all at once.

Lovino's hand came down heavily on the Spaniard's shoulder, and he grinned into the skin he was suckling between his teeth. When it lifted up and came down a second time, accompanied with a breathless "Dammit, bastard, quit it!" Antonio snapped out of the daze and broke himself from the Italian.

"What is it?" He asked, his hands still under Lovino. The Italian looked troubled, scared, and more than a little embarrassed. Antonio couldn't figure out why until he heard someone clear his throat behind him, and he finally pried himself away from Lovino enough to turn around.

Gilbert was standing there, looking borderline furious. He seemed to pay no mind to the scene he'd just encountered, or the almost nudity of his captain, because he launched right into his explanation once he was sure he had both of their attention. Antonio pouted a bit when he saw Lovino moving to put his shirt back on, but he didn't move to do the same. He was happy to note that Lovino didn't look ashamed in the slightest. Embarrassed, yes, but not ashamed.

"There's a ship off in the horizon," Gilbert explained, fist clenching at his side. "It's coming straight for us. We were pretty sure it was another pirates ship from the start, but then it got closer…" Gilbert looked at Antonio with a look he hadn't seen in a very, very long time. It reminded him of the look he used to get when he was still with his father, the one that came in droves when he was with him at the bar. "It's Arthur's ship. We're sure of it."

Antonio felt his blood run cold, and his posture immediately became rigid and cautious, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Lovino tense up as well.

Antonio's lips tightened into a thin line and he reached down to start tugging up his pants quickly. "Prepare the men," He said while fastening the buckle of his belt. "This time we'll sink the damn thing."

Gilbert turned around to relay the message and get the ship ready for attack. They may have vengeance on their side, but their crew was still smaller than Kirkland's and out of practice against someone as powerful as Kirkland. Antonio stopped him before he could leave completely, a little chilled by the draft through the door on his previously heated skin. There was something malicious and hard in his emerald eyes.

"But make sure they understand," His voice was so low it sounded more like a growl. "Kirkland is _mine_."

 **Lovino- June 1682**

Lovino could get used to the chaos. He could get used to knowing half the people on deck would rather see him dead, just as he could get used to the fact that it was almost impossible to hear when everything got going. Hell, he could even get used to the completely nerve racking feeling that made his legs wobble before the fight actually started.

What he couldn't get used to was Antonio.

It was like he was an entirely different person. He wasn't the dope that Lovino had fallen in love with. He was the _Capitan._ He moved around the ship barking orders and no one would dare argue with him. He was _scary_.

 _This_ was the pirate that had caused his family to be killed. _This_ was the pirate whose name drifted among the coastal people in hushed whispers and quiet terror. _This_ was The Dread Pirate Captain Fernandez.

Lovino did as he was told, and he only needed to be told once. He was to guard the captain's room, to make sure no one got in there and stole anything of importance. Lovino didn't argue. Frankly he was scared enough to shit himself right now, and he was just thankful enough that Antonio was letting him fight.

Stone faces rushed by him one by one, all heading to their designated fighting position- there were at least three around the helmsman, and even more still milling around Antonio- and Lovino couldn't help but feel like he was out of place.

It scared him now more than ever. Not because Antonio had taken back his persona of a pirate captain, but because it was different now. Where he was wily before now he seemed unstable. His five month stay in the metaphorical equivalent of Davy Jones' Locker was changed some things about Antonio. Lovino had noticed, of course. He wasn't blind. But it still scared the ever living crap out of him. Now Antonio came off as more ruthless, when he was in one of his moods, but in actual combat he fought like he was afraid. He was no longer sure of himself.

You didn't go up to the only person who had beaten you at your highest scared and unsure. It was like he was asking to be tortured again. Lovino would almost prefer Antonio be a corpse before going through that kind of situation again.

But that thought almost scared him more. Kirkland had let him off the ship because he was tired of simply playing around with him. What if Kirkland wasn't planning to capture him again and have his fun, but to end his only rival on the seas once and for all? It was a terrifying thought. It made taking a deep breath feel more like someone was trying pop a balloon with their bare hands.

The sips were close together now. So close that the cannons could easily hit their target, yet neither were firing. Lovino could feel himself start to shake when Kirkland stepped up to the edge of his ship to wait for a gangplank though he wasn't sure if it was out of fear or rage or something else entirely. It felt unfair how Antonio not only had to lay down the plank, but meet him when Kirkland- the man who still gave Antonio nightmares as much as the Spaniard would like to deny it- stepped onto his new ship. The Brit looked almost impressed as he eyed Antonio like a predator eyeing up his meal.

Though he couldn't see his face Lovino knew what kind of expression Antonio was making for it happened every time Kirkland's name was mentioned at the wrong time. He'd look furious and wild, like a rabid animal. It scared Lovino, and not for the first time he was almost glad he'd been positioned at one of the least dangerous spots on the ship.

With a flourish Kirkland unsheathed his sword and raised it to the air, then he slowly lowered it so it was eye level with Antonio. Antonio stood still, not so much frozen in fear as he was showing Kirkland that he felt he had no reason to defend himself. Lovino knew his captain, his _lover_ far too well. The idiot was going to get himself killed this time.

 _Move, dammit!_ Lovino called in his head, hoping that he had gained some newfound telepathy in the past few minutes and Antonio would listen to him for once. The two captains were exchanging pleasantries that Lovino couldn't hear, Kirkland's sword still pointed to Antonio's face.

Everyone on the ship was on edge, practically shaking, and the two they were waiting for weren't doing a damn thing. Lovino wasn't sure who jumped the gun and broke the tense atmosphere, but Lovino heard a canon go off and a resounding, wooden crack to prove it had lodged itself in whatever ship it was aimed towards and Lovino no longer had any time to think because the two dread captains were fighting now, and Kirkland's men were storming their ship and Lovino had to protect the captain's- and his own- quarters. After almost a year back out at sea, they'd built up their numbers again. After almost a year back out at sea, they were beyond ready.

 _This time,_ he thought as the first gnarly toothed Brit approached him and the chaos began, _we'll win._


End file.
